Paranoia
by Polska
Summary: n. baseless or excessive suspicion of the motives of others
1. Chapter I: Paranoia

**PARANOIA**

**Polska – welcome to another exciting edition of the Powerpuff Girls from me, the super fabulous Polska! Okay, maybe I'm not fabulous, considering that it's been about…how many months since I've updated a story? Well, I had a genius idea after reading _Xenophobia _(this is me name-dropping one of the best stories I have ever read) and now, _Taking Responsibility_ (well, that story inspires me anyhoo) and I decided to turn it into a story. **

**By the way, this story is completely AU. The Powerpuff Girls do not have superpowers in this story and are legal, consenting adults :). Enjoy! Review!**

_There should always be reason to believe that someone is watching you. The irrational notion that overshadows the truth is what brings you to assume that there is constantly someone behind you._

* * *

_n. baseless or excessive suspicion of the motives of others_

**CHAPTER ONE**

"_If _Heaven and Hell_ decide_

_That they both are satisfied_

_Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs." _

– _I Will Follow You Into The Dark, Death Cab for Cutie_

She sees her everywhere.

Everyday she can't breathe because she knows everything about her and what she is is no way to escape the scandal that rules her world...

Sometimes she wishes that nothing had ever started.

Maybe it she managed to control herself she wouldn't have to live like this;constantly in anxiety, in shame, in fear...

Everything would be normal.

She can't walk the streets without seeing her, can't breathe without hearing someone breathe beside, can't even remain in her house without living in fear that someone's watching her.,

Or maybe she's just...paranoid.

* * *

He's intoxicating, poisonous in the fact that he's even more addicting than cigarettes. His kisses are toxic. Even the slightest can cause her to lose all function. To her, she can't bare the thought of losing him.

She, on the other hand, is just so alluring, so coy and innocent and irresistible. She isn't venomous but her enticing persona is just so goddamn attractive. To him, she could truly be the one.

A part of her screams that the entire affair isn't right. The rest of her wins the fight and refuses to let him go.

_A year ago I was the maid of honour at her wedding. Now I'm the honourable bitch stealing her husband._

"Why do I always get the feeling that she knows?" she softly murmurs in his ear, almost subconsciously. She lies on top of him, savouring his subtle touch over her own silky skin. The room is thick with hot air and she can't contain the recurring heat that seems to creep up her neck so easily. If he notices he doesn't let on much, albeit he has that smirk that appears to settle onto his face habitually. It's that smirk that gets her. The smirk that suits him so well, that makes his crimson eyes so much less frightening. It's that smirk that makes her forget what she is doing to herself.

"Don't think so much," he whispers back, leaning up to say this into her ear. He runs his fingers over the backs of her thighs allowing her to shiver unknowingly. It's impulsive; he's just so goddamn intimidating. She can't help but feel this way.

The scent from the candle on the coffee table wafts through her nose and she inhales deeply in an attempt to calm her skyrocketing heart. The familiarity of it all appeases her enough to relax in his muscular arms. The position is so comfortable that she momentarily forgets her train of thought.

_"Where does she think you are this time?" I ask nonchalantly before he kisses me tenderly._

_"Tonight I'm spending quality time with my brothers," he replies._

She sits up, unable to keep tranquil after remembering his lie. He glances at her and sighs, running his fingers through his red hair.

"Blossom, I told you not to worry about her," he says, also sitting up. She is forced to get off of him. Reluctantly she does so and instead settles herself against the leather of the black couch. Objects like those did not come free. However picturesque and untouchable her house is, it was not cheap and she refused to let herself forget the assiduousness that she had poured into her own work to be able to afford such an attractive home.

"I know she knows," Blossom cries, unable withhold her emotions. She fixes the buttons on her simple pink Oxford and adjusts the straps on her bra, silently scolding herself for getting so poignant in front of him.

He moves towards her, trying to wrap his arms around her in an attempt to provide solace but Blossom declines to let him. Instead she stands up, straightens her black pencil skirt, and pads across the white shag carpet to her mahogany door.

"Maybe you should leave. It's getting kind of late. I'm sure your wife is wondering where you are," she says coldly, refusing to even look at him. She is sure he tries to catch her eye but she won't give in, no matter how intoxicating she remembers their moments were.

"Blossom, you can't ignore me because you're scared," he pleads with her as he walks towards the door. Blossom finally looks at him, noticing the genuine hurt in his eyes. She softens slightly but knows that they are done for the night.

"Go back to Buttercup, Brick. I am sure she's getting worried…" she trails off, unable to finish her sentence. Brick notices this but he doesn't say anything. Instead he slides on his coat, casts Blossom one last contrite look, and slips into the chilly winter night.

Blossom closes the door and leans against it, sighing heavily. She can't help her occasional irrationality. She can't help feeling vulnerable when she walks to the grocery store, or even to check her mail. She can't help but live in unjustifiable fear that someone is watching her every move.

_I'm going crazy._

* * *

Brick feels for Blossom, he really does. But he can't help from feeling slightly angry with her. He knows that they share an undeviating connection; one that he knows he has never truly shared with his wife.

Why is he with Buttercup anyways? It seems like an unanswerable question. He's sure that it's her feminine wile, her manipulating ways of seduction, that body…

Right then he comes to the conclusion that his attraction to her is purely physical. Her beauty, he realizes, is the determining factor in their relationship. He knows he would not be with her otherwise. As much as it pains him to hear himself be so shallow, Brick knows he cannot evade reality.

_Why does she want to be with _me _anyways, if not for the same reason?_

As he walks down the street, hands stuffed in his leather jacket, Brick contemplates what he is going to say to his wife. She assumes that he was with his brothers at night but Brick can't help but worry that she is sceptical. Briefly he curses himself for sounding like Blossom.

Soon he arrives at his luxurious apartment building. Taking a giant breath Brick rings the doorbell and waits for his wife's throaty voice to come over the intercom.

"Bricky?" she says huskily. Brick announces that it's him and waits patiently for her to let him in. The door buzzes and a faint click is heard. Brick opens the door and slips quietly inside, taking no time to admire the building's fancy décor like he usually does. He walks up the stairs, taking them two at a time in order to get to their penthouse apartment quickly.

Soon, he reaches the top and pushes the door open. He is surprised to see Buttercup settled on a corduroy couch, her slim, tanned legs crossed and that little black dress that he loves so much clinging to her curves almost unbearably. Her long black hair cascades down her chest and when she looks at him she's forced to brush her bangs back and reveal black-rimmed verdant eyes.

Brick's heart pounds and he suddenly remembers why he married her. She has the power to turn even the most intimidating man into a blubbering mess. She wields power, a concept Brick finds himself aching for.

She has a cigarette dangling from her fingers. After certain pauses, she places it between her lips and inhales, allowing tendrils of grey smoke to curl around her head. The room is now layered with the scent of her rancid cigarette, drowning out Brick's faint memories of Blossom's vanilla-smelling home. When she takes puffs of her cigarette Brick is instantly reminded of those glamorous women from the early twentieth century, an Ingrid Bergmann type character. He certainly loves his classic black and white films.

"I missed you," she says in that deep sensual voice that Brick adores. He gulps slightly, willing Buttercup to stray her eyes away from his bobbing Adam's apple. She doesn't look and instead grounds her cigarette on the ashtray by the couch. She stands up and walks towards him, laying her hands upon his chest when she reaches him.

Brick glances down at her pallid, slender fingers and then back at her. She takes that as a hint for her to kiss him and she does, invoking such passion through her kiss. Brick tries, he really does, but he can't seem to get that old spark that seemed to ignite into a wildfire whenever he used to kiss her.

Buttercup notices. She pulls away and looks up at him worriedly.

"Did you eat something at Butch's?" she asks, tone anxious but stern. Tough. She's always been a tough one. Brick knows the last thing to do is tell her the truth so he agrees with her statement instead. She seems oddly satisfied. Brick can't help but wonder if she refuses to hear anything but what she wants to hear.

"Well," she says, running a finger down his chest, "I was wondering if maybe we could hang out tomorrow." She kisses the side of his mouth seductively and moves her lips to his ear.

"You know, just the two of us."

Brick scrunches up his nose, grateful that Buttercup is still lingering at the side of his face and can't see his expression. He was planning to spend the day "working on a project with one of his colleagues". Naturally this meant spending the day making love to Blossom.

"Actually, I was planning to spend the day working on a project with Jim and Randy," Brick replies, clearing his throat. A disappointed expression crosses Buttercup's face briefly.

"Can't you tell them that you already made serious plans?" Buttercup asks hopefully, though he detects a hard edge. She folds her hands in front of her and watches his expression carefully.

"'Fraid not, sweetie. The project is due in a couple of days. We're not even close to being finished," Brick answers regretfully, or what sounds regretful to Buttercup, wrapping his arms around Buttercup's slender waist. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him.

"Okay, but I'll get you alone one of these days," she murmurs in his ear, never straying from her atypical sensuality. Brick raises his eyebrows.

"You can have me now," he says lightly and picks up Buttercup. She laughs as he carries her into their bedroom and closes the door. He gently lays her down on the bed and jumps next to her, grabbing her around the waist and pressing her to his chest. He can feel her heartbeat through her dress and her smoke-tinted breath against his face.

"I love you," she whispers. Brick nods and looks away. He knows she is expecting him to say it back but he can't. He knows he can't.

_I can only say that to one person. And it's not you, Buttercup._

* * *

**December 7, Present Year**

**Diary:**

_My heart pounds a lot. I noticed that today. It pounds whenever he's near me, and it pounds when I panic. I panic whenever I feel her presence. I've been around her long enough to recognize whenever she is near me. Brick thinks I'm being paranoid. I know I am not being paranoid. I'm the most rational person alive, aren't I?_

_How did this happen anyways? How long has it been going on? I lost count of the months. Maybe I should start. I know it was sometime around her wedding. Before or after? Was I an honourable home wrecker back then or was I simply the maid of honour? _

_I could be the one married to him. I could be the one waking up to him every morning. But I lost my chance. It's funny how I fell for him after he got married. I could've resisted. I didn't have to do that to my sister and yet I did. Nobody would assume that of me. I'm a "true-to-your-man-family-friends" kind of person. _

_Well, I should be anyways._

_It was on her wedding night. I was congratulating her for the nth time that night at reception. I complimented her dress (I was just being nice; it was too untraditional for my taste) and exchanged squeals with Bubbles. I remember Buttercup leaving to have a dance with the Professor and Bubbles going to dance with Boomer. I remember heading to the bar and ordering myself champagne. I remember him sitting on the bar stool next to me._

"_From a bar?" he asked incredulously when I told the bartender my order. I glanced at him, surprised that he was speaking to me at all. I couldn't help but notice how handsome was; black suit and bowtie, completely traditional. I saw his eyes drift over my body, resting on my chest. I suppose I'd purposely worn that pink dress with the plunging neckline (Buttercup's bridesmaids dresses were horrid; I was grateful for the opportunity to change afterward)._

"_I'm not much of a drinker," I confessed, thanking the bartender when he handed me my champagne glass. I sipped it gracefully at first, then chugged the rest. I called the bartender for another one and was passed two more immediately. Brick watched me with an amused expression on his face. I cast him a sidelong glance and growled when I saw the look he had etched into his visage._

"_What?" I snapped. Buttercup and the Professor were still dancing, so everybody was focused on them instead of Brick and I. _

_Brick continued to look at me, a twinkle in his scarlet eyes. I ignored him and continued to drink my champagne. It was delicate drink, easy to down as I did not care much for hard liquor. I managed to finish five glasses before the song ended. A flushed Buttercup hurried over to us and pulled Brick to the dance floor. She didn't acknowledge me much and instead openly, and I doubted accidentally, kissed her husband directly in my presence. I suppose she had been marking her territory once and for all. The crowd applauded when a slow number began. I narrowed my eyes at my sister's audacity. Even on her wedding she bared no shame in acting like a complete bitch._

_Instead I leaned on the bar counter and laid my head over my bare arms. Ted, the bartender, came over to me and leaned his elbows on the counter, sympathy dawning in his gaze._

"_Old flame?" he asked knowledgeably. I rolled my eyes._

"_Hardly," I replied. "He used to like me a hell of a lot. I never gave him a chance. I was so focused on someone else. Now I regret it so much." At that I turned and looked at the happy couple on the dance floor. Buttercup was leaning against his chest, her eyes closed and a serene expression on her beautiful face. Brick danced with her solemnly. Once, I was pretty sure I caught his eyes flicker to where I was sitting. But was it only my imagination?_

_Evidently Ted saw it too. He winked at me. "Looks like someone still isn't over you."_

_I blushed. "We can't get together, he's with my sister now. I'm not that kind of person." Yet, I always romanticized myself as that sort of person. I was always the goody-two-shoes and I never got into trouble. What if I just wanted to do one rebellious thing? Did fucking my sister's new husband qualify as sin?_

_Though I suppose my agnosticism could argue against this. I refused to think profoundly about it._

_Ted winked at me again. "Maybe. But he clearly is." He nodded his head offhandedly in the direction behind me and busied himself with previously clean glasses. He began to whistle a joyful tune and that elicited a vague smile on my face._

"_Buttercup's about to get drunk as fuck," a male voice whispered in my ear. I froze at the sensation of his hot breath, bare against my neck. "That means you and I can spend as much time as we want together without her noticing." _

_I glanced at Ted who was too far away to hear anything. I turned my head slowly and saw Brick standing there; that trademark smirk situated on his face. It just suited him so well. My heart began to quick its pace, thumping loudly against my chest and in my ears. _

"_You think I would do that?" I hissed at him. He seemed amused by my reaction. He was already close enough to me to casually begin to run his fingers up my thigh, under my dress…_

_I slapped his hands away. He still looked amused._

"_I know you would," he whispered. _

_It was a fatal stab to my sensibility. I knew he was right; I'd always wanted to try something defiant, no matter how hurtful it was. Screwing my sister's husband was right at the top of the list. _

_So I jumped off my stool, shot him a look and walked away, purposely swaying my hips from side to side. It was a move Buttercup had mastered; something I'd hardly been able to accomplish. _

_I remember seeing Buttercup downing shot after shot. Butch, Boomer, and Bubbles cheered her on as I left the hall. I remember being pushed against the wall by Brick, being kissed so fervently that I felt like I was about to collapse and my lips would fall off. I remember Brick pulling me up the stairs of the hotel, lips and tongue still battling with mine, and pulling me into a deluxe suite. I remember him locking the door and pushing me onto the bed, him climbing on top of me. I remember almost every last detail…_

_I willingly pulled off his clothes while he worked on removing mine. I know that he tended to kiss me a lot, trailing his lips across my neck not sparingly. I kept trying to insist, among shorted breath and gasps, not to leave any marks but I don't know if he listened. I remember every pleasurable and painful moment. I even remember the end, when we lay there in bed, chests heaving up and down and faces flushed._

"_I never really got over you," he said suddenly. I crossed my hands over my bare chest and turned my head to face him._

"_I know," I replied. He leaned over and kissed me. I remember leaving the suite fifteen minutes after him with the bruised lips that ached to my touch. I remember feeling the best I'd ever felt before. I remember seeing Buttercup fawn over Brick in her drunken form and my heart breaking. I remember that little wink at the end of the night from Brick, solidifying our secret affair…_

_I don't remember if Buttercup had seen the wink. _

_Sometimes I wish I had some control over the entire event. If only I managed to restrain myself, I wouldn't have to live like this; constantly in fear that Buttercup is pursuing me like a cheetah after its prey. Maybe Brick's right, diary, maybe I _am _paranoid?_

_But then, how would Buttercup have found out anyways?_

_-Blossom_

* * *

Butch could've had his chance with Buttercup. He knows he has liked her for almost the entire time they have known each other, if even subconsciously. There was that brief interruption when he was dating Blossom, but that was nothing more than a fling, a blip in the system. Buttercup is the one he really wants. He lusts after her.

He doesn't know why he finds her so goddamn attractive. Her sisters are equally beautiful, maybe even more so, but he is just so beguiled by Buttercup's personality, her wit, and her disposition in general. They just have so much chemistry together, rough and almost dangerous. Butch refuses to believe that Buttercup has slipped out of his grasp forever.

He knows that she and Brick won't last. Buttercup might be blinded by her belief that Brick loves her but Butch knows the truth. He sees the twinkle in his brother's eye whenever he looks at Blossom. At get-togethers, he often recognizes the looks Brick gives Blossom. This leads Butch to question why Brick is still with Buttercup when he so obviously still loves Blossom.

Yet Butch knows that he can do nothing to tear Buttercup away from her husband. She thinks she loves him and Brick will never give up on his prize. Butch knows his brother. Buttercup may be oblivious but Butch knows.

He saw them together on the night of Buttercup's wedding. He saw Brick and Blossom leave the hall together. He saw them come back with swollen mouths. He saw Blossom's unkempt hair, contrary to her sleek locks only hours earlier. Butch knows that they are unaware he possesses this information, and he plans to leave it that way. He knows he should tell Buttercup but he doesn't have the heart to betray his brother. He wants Buttercup to realize that she is too good for Brick.

Butch isn't really a heavy drinker but he knows that, eventually he has to drink away his sorrows. His brother, Boomer, has been telling him that for years, but even at twenty-four, Butch still doesn't realize that Boomer is right. Of course, Butch knows that Boomer is referring to all the occasions that he'd screwed Bubbles over and he drank to forget about it. Sometimes Butch doesn't understand why Bubbles still stays with Boomer.

'I guess that's true love,' he muses, stirring his vodka Highball. He is sitting at a bar in downtown Townsville, watching a hockey game on one of their big screen televisions. Others in the place are either playing pool or cards or are just sitting on the chairs, drunk out of their minds. Butch wishes he were like them, able to drink away their troubles so easily.

Instead he simply sighs and his shoulders droop. He is visibly deflated, and there is no one around to ultimately care. It's at times like this when he doesn't even care if it's Buttercup, as long as he has someone to have and hold. In early years this outright declaration would have shocked him.

"Why so glum?" a soft feminine voice asks from behind him. Butch whirls around and sees a familiar figure.

"Bubbles, what are you doing here?" he asks, more curious than suspicious. As far as he knows, Boomer and Bubbles are still happily together and Boomer hasn't done anything to offend his wife, not this time.

She looks sad. Butch feels a pang in his heart. It hurts him to see someone so innocent looking so miserable. He clenches his fists, wondering what Boomer has done to her this time.

She notices. "Oh, no, Butch, it's nothing to do with Boomer."

Butch relaxes. He grabs his drink and takes a giant swig, ignoring Bubbles' slightly repulsed look. He lays the glass back to the counter and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gesturing for Bubbles to take a seat beside him. She does, lowering herself in the barstool gingerly.

"So what's wrong?" he asks her once she is comfortable and has asked the bartender for the drink of her choice. She takes a refreshing sip and lets out a sigh afterwards. Butch watches as she turns to face him.

"I got fired," she mutters inaudibly.

"What?"

"They cut me from my job," Bubbles says louder. Butch raises his eyebrows.

"Why?" he asks, not able to believe that sweet little Bubbles has been fired. He takes one look at her long uncombed blond hair and bedraggled Woodstock t-shirt and decides that it's for professional reasons. After all, the building she worked at refused to employ…lower-class citizens.

"They were 'downsizing'," she replies angrily. "Can I help the way I look?"

Butch decides not to comment on the obvious. He reaches out and pats her arm; the only kind of comfort that he knows. Offering solace is not Butch's strong suit and Bubbles knows this, but she seems grateful that he is at least trying.

"And," she continues, "I'm worried about Buttercup. I think Brick is having an affair…"

Butch looks away, hoping she doesn't notice. He doesn't want her to question what he knows. Unfortunately luck is not on Butch's side.

Bubbles cocks her head curiously. "Do you know, Butch? Do you know something?"

Butch shakes his head. He doesn't want to get into the matter with his brother's fiancée. As rude as he is, Butch knows better than to betray his own sibling to an outwardly vocal girl unable to keep a secret. For all he knows, Buttercup will think that he is simply jealous of her relationship with Brick and is attempting to break them up so that Butch can get have her all to himself.

"So, what is Boomer doing tonight anyways?" Butch asks desperately, attempting to redirect the conversation.

_I would never do that to Buttercup._

* * *

**TO: **butonium (at) systemek (dot) org

**FROM: **bronalds (at) defusion (dot) com

**SUBJECT: **No subject

**DATE: **December 7, present – 11:32 PM

Blossom,

Tomorrow I'm working with a few colleagues on a big project that de Vito's expecting done in three months. I think that we can work past that little bump in the road from earlier today. Remember the wedding? I know you still want to.

Brick

* * *

**TO: **bronalds (at) defusion (dot) com

**FROM: **butonium (at) systemek (dot)org

**SUBJECT: **RE: No subject

**DATE: **December 7, present – 11:57 PM

"I never truly got over you."

Yes, I remember. See you tomorrow.

Blossom

* * *

Buttercup wakes up the next morning, not at all surprised to see her husband missing from his usual spot next to her. She is surprised, however, to see that she is still wearing her lingerie. She assumed that, after their moment last night, she would not be fully clothed. As Buttercup strains to remember, she sits up and traces her finger around the faint indent left in the bed from her husband's body.

She sighs, remembering how even though they cuddled and kissed, he did not tell her he loved her and they certainly did not make love. In fact, Buttercup can't remember the last time they made love to one another. She wonders if maybe there is something troubling him, or maybe he just doesn't love her anymore.

"FUCK!" she screams, pounding her fist into the bed. She knew this was going to happen. Since they got married, Buttercup knows that Brick isn't the same as he was when they were dating. As curious as she is to know her husband's business, she isn't really sure she wants to know the truth. The fact remains that she is perfectly happy in her little utopia.

She gets out of bed and pads across the plush carpet, opening the door to reveal an attached kitchen and living room. There is no sign of Brick or any forms of life. The television isn't on, there is no note on the counter, and Brick's laptop remains silent in its place on the coffee table. Buttercup is unnerved.

She shivers and rubs her bare arms, brushing away random strands of hair that have escaped her messy bun. She pats her nightdress pointlessly as if searching for something and realizes absently that it doesn't have any pockets. She quickly walks over to the drawer by the stainless steel refrigerator and pulls out a half-empty box of Marlboro Reds. She desperately lights one and relaxes once she inhales.

Sighing, Buttercup leans against the granite counter, still smoking her cigarette. She tries to think of a reason to why Brick is so distant with her but nothing comes to mind.

"_I love you," she says. But there is no reply. He simply looks away and purses his lips. She snuggles in closer to his chest, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement to what she has said but there is none. They simply lay there in an awkward silence, unable to fill the void that has unknowingly already been filled._

Buttercup minces her cigarette in one of the numerous ashtrays about the apartment and bangs her palms against the counter. The throbbing sensation sent coursing through her arms goes by without recognition and her breath becomes haggard. She is too preoccupied with the fact that her own little utopia is crumbling down around her.

_Why doesn't he love me anymore?_

* * *

Blossom is seeing her again. She had run down her sidewalk to get the mail and was sure she felt someone watching her. However, having turned around she found herself utterly alone. Her heart hammers against her chest when she thinks that someone could know about her private scandal.

She tries to stay calm while she waits for Brick. But everytime she manages to relax, she feels someone's hot breath on her neck and odd noises coming from outside. Blossom knows that it isn't normal for her to feel this way, but there is nothing she can do about it, bearing in mind that she is the only one who knows, and Brick quite perceptibly isn't affected much by the affair.

Blossom taps her slender fingers against her bare legs as she sits on her leather couch, awaiting Brick's arrival patiently. She has arranged everything perfectly, waiting for the chance to rekindle the flame that died out the day before. Unfortunately her nervousness is affecting her state of mind and all she can think about is that feeling.

That someone knows the truth.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Polska – so what do you think? I'm actually really proud of this story. I hope people like it and actually review this time. Nobody ever reviews anymore. Anyways, thanks for taking the time. This took me so long but…yeah; I'm excited for this story. I have no idea where it's going, but I've decided to just go with the flow…**

**My favourite part was Blossom's diary entry.**

**Review. Please.**

**EDIT: September 6/2011: I did a bit of rewriting for this chapter, as I will do for the remaining chapters just to get my juices flowing for the new chapter. It was a bit obvious that I was young when I wrote this, or at least hadn't honed my writing talent properly. It's not great, but it's a lot better. Also, I'm sorry if any of these characters seem out of character. Like I said, I was young when I started this story and didn't quite understand the concept of characterization haha. I will try to work on this in future chapters.**

* * *

**_NEXT CHAPTER_  
**HYSTERIA


	2. Chapter II: Hysteria

**PARANOIA**

**Polska – this must be the fastest I've ever updated a story. I'm not even joking, I am a notorious procrastinator. Oh well. It's here and it's great. Or, it will be once I get around to writing it. Anyways, thanks a lot for the reviews. They were all along the lines of "great writing and interesting storyline" which made me smile and blush. Really. Thanks. I keep reading them over and over. I love praise.**

**By the way, if you check the first chapter you may notice that I changed the year. I couldn't decide on a year, so I settled for not mentioning one. And they are no longer twenty-six but twenty-four, two years out of university. I'm thinking Buttercup and Brick got married a year after they graduated, since Brick and Blossom's affair has been going on for a year. Ah, that's confusing. Yeah. Anyways, review, please! **

_The fear that envelops you calls for the serenity that refuses to occur naturally when you are living in fear. The instant it's all too much to control is the moment when you have to worry that you are no longer unbound from the fear that controls you._

* * *

**HYSTERIA**

_n. an uncontrollable outburst of emotion of fear_

**CHAPTER TWO**

"_Storms of petals are pouring down, _

_Pushing their way through our pink love._

_Some may say illness: this so-called love,_

The sickness of the mind_."_

_- Pink Love, Blonde Redhead_

The scary part is her heart. It beats so fast and it's going to burst.

She can't keep up the mask. She can't go on like she isn't scared. She can't neglect the fact that she scared out of her mind and it's driving her mad.

But she can't explode like she wants to. She can't explode like her heart is going to.

She has to relax. She can't let on that, amid her tension and worry, she is afraid. She can't be scared. She cannot cry or break down or allow any crack to separate her into pieces. The fear is overwhelming.

And that's what's so scary, the hysteria of fear.

* * *

He wants her and he craves her. He lusts after her, yet she is oblivious to his desires. She doesn't understand his feelings, nor does she know the truth about her marriage and her friends. Her family. The betrayal is palpable and yet, she refuses to live outside of her perfect little world: one that is without unfaithfulness. Disloyalty. Lies.

He can't help but think about her relentlessly. Is it love? Is it obsession? Is it both?

_I need you, Buttercup; I can't stand living like this._

It's early in the morning, but Butch is never really a late sleeper. He was frequently the first to wake when he still lived with his brothers and the last to go to sleep. He stayed awake at night, deep in thought, his eyes closed to cast the illusion that he was slumbering, temporarily unconscious. But Butch hardly ever really sleeps. It is a waste of time, taking stretch from the consequential things in life.

He walks along a sidewalk by his undersized condominium, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black pea coat and his eyes never straying from the newly repaved sidewalk. The biting wind snaps at his already-red cheeks and nose but he refuses to admit defeat and succumb to the winter morning air.

Unknowingly he is headed towards Buttercup's sumptuous home. He is too fixated on his feet to recognize that he is about to reach it, until, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the navy-coated doorman. The doorman is familiar from all Butch's previous visits.

He stops walking and inhales deeply, wishing that he could go up to the top and simply…_talk _to her. Comfort her while Brick is off screwing her sister. He peers longingly up at the top, unaware of the strange looks that he is receiving from the doorman. When it comes to Buttercup, Butch can only think of her and forgets the world around him.

"Butch?" the man at the door calls to him. Butch snaps out of his trance and reverts his gaze to the much shorter man. He manages a vague, fake smile and a disinclined wave.

"Hey, Phil," he calls back, immediately regretting answering. He is in no mood for conversation, least of all with the doorman, who is short and fat and always has a ridiculous smile plastered on his face, like he is actually…_happy._

Phil beckons for Butch to come forward. Butch growls softly but unenthusiastically ambles over to the man. He shakes the doorman's hand grudgingly, and then falls back, shoving his hands in his pockets once more. He ignores Phil's enquiring face and instead pretends to be fascinated by a seagull sitting on top of a mailbox.

"You goin' up to see the lady?" Phil asks perceptively. Butch restrains from punching him in the face and instead shakes his head. He hoped that his enticement with Buttercup isn't quite so apparent but by the look on Phil's face, Butch's luck still isn't quite there.

_She'll never know._

* * *

"I…can't…breathe…" she wheezes and mutters and clutches her hand to her chest, pinching her skin as if to squeeze her heart. She is doubled over on the shaggy carpet, her head pounding and her heart drumming madly. She tries to draw breath but instead her head begins to spin and she collapses to her side, gasping and unable to breathe.

She can feel her lungs strain for breath but incapable of obtaining any. Just as she is about to surrender to the pain, the door opens and there he is, looking uninterested and shameless as usual. His eye soon widen once he gets a glimpse of her struggling on the floor, her face abnormally colored and her hand blindly gripping the front of her white blouse.

"Blossom!" he cries, dashing towards her. He sits her up and leans her against his chest, scarlet eyes boring into pink. She stares back, still striving breathe.

"It's okay," he says, "you can do it. Just try slowly, come on; in…out…in…out…"

She relaxes slightly, not so much hyperventilating anymore, closing her eyes and methodically breathing. Brick watches her chest rise up and down and breathes a momentary sigh of relief. She looks so serene in his arms that he finds it difficult to wake her. But he gently shakes her shoulders until her eyes begin to flutter and those pink orbs are visible from beneath her eyelids. Her eyes dart back and forth as her mouth curls into letter shapes as though she is trying to speak. She reaches up blindly and cups Brick's face in her hands.

"You had a panic—"

He is cut off by a long, passionate kiss. It is random, completely undetected by even Brick himself. She removes her hands from his face and instead wraps them around his neck as though hanging on for dear life, like she refuses to let him go. He kisses her back, running his fingers through her sleek hair, the hair that doesn't quite complement his eyes but always begets tingles to his hands whenever he touches it. He kisses the side of her mouth, his lips skimming her creamy skin as he moves down the side of her neck. His hands glide down her back, tracing circles under her shirt.

It's addicting. The way he unbuttons her blouse, the way she grips his hair in her fists, the way they kiss. It's hypnotic, like they will never give up this moment for anyone. Like Buttercup never really exists. Like they are alone on this earth and free to savour each other.

He gently lifts her off his lap and onto the carpet, not having much of a chance to lie down next to her before she grabs him and kisses him again. Her eyes close instantly and she rolls on top of him, shuddering as his hands travel over her body. It's like a recap of the previous night; everytime he touched her, she would impetuously shiver and feel the need to kiss him once more.

But even while he nibbles at her neck and she unbuttons his shirt, something doesn't feel right. She sits up and hears an irritated sigh. Blossom chastises herself; the entire scenario is painfully similar to the one from the other night.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me," Blossom whispers, sliding off of her lover. She rests her chin atop her bare knees, allowing her reddish bangs to fall into her eyes involuntarily. Sitting there with her arms wrapped around her legs, Brick is reminded of a little girl and feels a sudden pang in his heart when he sees tears begin to well in her eyes.

"Blossom," he tries, moving towards her. She looks up at him, her eyes watering and her mouth curled downward in a sad frown. She looks away so as to not allow him to see her cry and buries her face into her knees. The position is uncomfortable but Blossom stubbornly declines to let him see the tears now flowing freely down her face.

"Blossom, please," Brick says again, trying to wrap an arm around Blossom's shoulders. She moves away and suddenly jumps up, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. She bangs her leg heavily against the metal of her coffee table but she ignores the throbbing pain in her left leg and instead focuses on Brick.

"I – don't – know – why…" Blossom shudders and crumples to the ground, her shoulders beginning to shake with suppressed sobs. She leans against her couch and folds her arms around her head, resting them on top of her knees again.

"I can't do this anymore!" she cries abruptly, lifting her head almost instantly. Brick is surprised and backs away slightly. He doesn't even know that he is doing it, but the shock that comes with Blossom's outburst is enough to intimidate him enough to move away.

"I'm going crazy," she whimpers, standing up and gripping her hair in her hands. She paces back and forth around the room, mumbling inaudibly to herself. Brick reaches out to touch her but she slaps his hand away and glares at him.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screams, picking up her cell phone from the coffee table. Brick gasps as she whips it at his head. He manages to duck in time and averts his eyes to Blossom's face. She looks shocked when her cell phone smashes against the wall.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no…" she moans, cradling her head in her hands. Brick's second instinct is to get out of there but instead he moves towards her, trying to coax her into his arms. She pulls away, sobbing uncontrollably.

"I can't live like this. I can't…she's everywhere…watching my every move…" Blossom sobs hysterically. "Can't you…don't you know…someone's…there…"

In that moment of weakness, Brick seizes his chance to corral her in his arms and rests his chin on the crown of her head as she clutches the front of his unbuttoned shirt and sobs into his chest. He rocks her back and forth until her sobs subside and then releases her, looking her straight in the eyes.

"I know you're scared," he says gently. "But you have to understand. I don't love Buttercup; I love you. She doesn't know about us and she never will. I promise that nobody knows the truth about us. You have to realize that."

Blossom looks up at his earnest face and softens. She wants to believe so badly that their affair is secret but there is that tiny nagging feeling in her stomach that refuses to leave. That minuscule feeling that denotes that they are not alone in this scandal…

_Please don't do this to me…_

* * *

**BUTTERCUP'S JOURNAL**

**EIGHT TO TWO YEARS PREVIOUS**

**Sunday, January 4 – 1:53 AM  
****Eight years previous**

_Blossom thinks I'm a person like she is. You know, a person who writes in a journal or diary. So she got this thing for our sixteenth birthday yesterday. I opened it and burst out laughing. It was such a ridiculous present then. But then I looked at Blossom's face and saw the hurt in her eyes and decided to give it a try. _

_It's not working for me._

_I'll just lie._

**Thursday, January 29 – 4:32 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_I was cleaning my room and voila! I unearthed this ugly journal of mine. I had a sudden change of heart and have decided to regularly start writing in this thing. Of course, Blossom learned a long time ago that I was lying about liking this present. Thank God she didn't really care. Oh well. Maybe it won't be _that _bad._

_Ugh, I'm turning into Bubbles._

**Friday, January 30 – 6:02 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_I saw Butch today._

_I think I looked like a lobster. Thank _God _he didn't see me. _

_I know what you're thinking. Me, Buttercup Utonium blushing like a fucking lobster? It's pretty unbelievable I know. But, damn, that boy is fucking perfect._

_Ick, here comes the Professor. Better shove this journal away before he se_

**Sunday, February 1 – 3:26 AM  
****Eight years previous**

_Didn't get to write yesterday. Spent the entire day listening to Bubbles brag about some date that she went on with Boomer. I'm not exaggerating; she literally spent the entire day bragging. Thank God for Mortal Kombat otherwise I would've died from boredom. What is it with Boomer anyways? He's not as sexy as Butch. _

_Speaking of, I haven't seen Butch in ages._

**Sunday, February 1 – 3:30 AM  
****Eight years previous**

_I forgot! Blossom is making me and Bubbles go to the science museum tomorrow with her and Brick. Butch and Boomer are also going! Perfect!_

_PS: Why doesn't Blossom just screw Brick and get it over with? He's so obviously in love with her. Why the fuck doesn't Blossom like him back? They're so perfect for each other it's not even funny. Poor Bricky-boy. _

**Monday, February 2 – 9:01 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_Just got back. It wasn't as bad as I expected. Butch and I ditched the other four and went to buy ice cream. Actually I had to buy them since Butch was broke. Normally I would've just bought myself an ice cream and told Butch to shove it up his ass but today I had a change of heart. Fuck love._

"_Ooh, look at that!" Blossom squealed as she pointed to this weird electricity-inducing thingamabobber that was glowing purple. I exchanged a look with Butch and we simultaneously rolled our eyes as Blossom and Brick hurried to examine the stupid thing. I could see Brick staring at Blossom's ass the whole time and nudged Butch to see if he noticed. He slapped a hand over his mouth so as to not laugh._

_I looked around. Bubbles and Boomer were holding hands in the gift shop, occasionally exchanging little kisses between searches. It made me want to barf._

"_Yo, BC, you wanna get outta here?" Butch asked me. I nodded, feeling relieved and excited when he asked me. My heart pounded. It was finally my time to be alone with Butch._

_Except, that idiot forgot his fucking wallet._

_So when we get to the ice cream parlour, he's giving me this ridiculous sheepish look and practically begging me to buy him ice cream. Since I am just the _nicest _person ever, I buy his fucking ice cream. Idiot doesn't even say bye._

_What a moron._

_If we ever go out, he'd better not make me pay for dinner for both of us. Asshole._

**Saturday, February 14 – 5:44 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_Sorry I haven't written in a while. Been busy._

_Devastated. Heartbroken. Pissed off._

_Not just at Blossom and Butch but at Brick too. Why didn't he try harder to get stupid Blossom? DIDN'T SHE KNOW HOW I FELT ABOUT BUTCH? Stupid bitch. I cannot express my hatred for her. How could she do this to me?_

_It's Valentine's Day today. Whoever came up with this day is a fucking moron._

_The doorbell rings. I go to answer it and there stand the three of them. My eyes immediately stray towards Butch and my heart begins to beat fast again. His black hair is barely maintained and his green polo shirt and black jeans are in desperate need of ironing and washing but he looks as hot as ever._

"_Your sisters home?" Brick asks, peering over my shoulder. He's holding a cheesy heart-shaped box and I stifle a smile. It's so obvious who that's for. _

"_Yeah, Blossom's in her room and Bubbles is in the kitchen," I tell them. Boomer and Brick immediately shoot off in opposite directions, leaving me standing at the door awkwardly with Butch. He smiles at me and I smile back, wordlessly inviting him inside. He steps inside and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans._

"_Valentine's Day is stupid, hey?" he asks after a moment of awkward silence. I nod in response, afraid to speak. He's a lot closer to me before and I can't help but notice that he doesn't exactly smell like roses. What did I find so hot before? He smells like a mortuary. _

_Blossom and Brick coming down the stairs and Boomer and Bubbles entering from the kitchen interrupt us in our particularly _fascinating _conversation. Bubbles is wearing a flashy necklace and Blossom is eating a bunch of chocolates but she and Brick are standing nowhere near each other. I take a peek at Butch and catch him in mid-gawk at Blossom. I roll my eyes. Typical Blossom. Perfect hair, perfect face, perfect body…_

_Bitch._

_It's even worse when I catch her staring back at Butch. Even worse: she lets out a stupid little giggle. Brick looks at her, confused. THEN she goes and excuses herself to her room, saying there's a bunch of chocolate waiting with her name on them. So naturally we all head upstairs and Brick and Boomer settle themselves in my room and set up the video game console while Bubbles occupies herself with painting her toenails. Butch announces that he's going to the bathroom._

_Ten minutes later, he's still in the 'bathroom'. I hear stupid giggles coming from Blossom's room and feel my blood freeze over. WTF?_

_So I burst through the door and see Butch and my sister making out. Furiously! On her bed! I gape while they look up at me, surprised. Blossom sees the look of hurt on my face and her smile fades. She reaches out to me._

"_Buttercup…" she started to say._

"_DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!"_

_I'm too depressed to write anymore._

_Must think of plan of revenge._

**Friday, February 20 – 7:56 AM  
****Eight years previous**

_Gotta leave for school soon but have realized things._

_Butch is an asshole and he should take a shower._

_Blossom is a bitch._

_They're perfect for each other._

_How could she do this to me?_

_I need…fuck, am I crying? Oh no, I never cry. Thanks a lot, Blossom. _

**Friday, February 20 – 4:20 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_Why haven't I noticed before? Brick has really cool eyes. Plus, he is a lot hotter than Butch and obviously not a dickweed. I mean, he got chocolates for Blossom for Valentine's Day…_

_I won't be writing for a long time. I'll miss you._

**Tuesday, March 30 – 2:18 AM  
****Eight years previous**

_Wow it's been over a month since I've written. _

_Butch was a silly little crush. He means nothing to me anymore. He's like an insignificant little bug. Not. Important._

_I…am just so confused about how I feel right now. I mean, Brick is being so nice to me now that Butch and Blossom are dating but that's probably because he's heartbroken. I would be too. But I can't start liking Brick. I refuse to stoop to Blossom's level._

_Then again…she never really liked Brick, has she?_

**Thursday, July 1 – 1:33 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_Can you believe that Butch and Blossom are still together? Jesus, the sex must be good._

_No, I'm sorry, I know Blossom's too much of a virgin to have sex. Ha, ha._

_Yeah, I'm still pissed off. It's depressing to write all this down. I'm just trying to kill time by not writing in this journal. Sorry._

_I need. Fuck, I just need Brick right now._

_More tears._

**Friday, July 2 – 5:50 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_Who knew that Bubbles could cheer me up?_

"_Don't worry, Buttercup," she said, "I can't believe Blossom did that to you either."_

_Who knew sweet Bubbles held a secret grudge against perfect Blossom? _

_What she said cheered me up considerably._

**Friday, July 2 – 10:04 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick. I don't like Brick._

_Repeat until believe._

**Tuesday, July 6 – 5:32 PM  
****Eight years previous**

_Ow, ow, ow. Just woke up. Killer hangover. Mitch had a killer house party last night. Thank God the professor and the doctor are out of town on business and have no idea where we went. It was totally fucking killer._

_I remember making out with Mitch. I remember Blossom being felt up by Butch. How much did I drink anyways? It must've been a lot because I can hardly stand up. I can't even see what I'm writing. This is insane._

_Oh. Shit._

_I just remembered something._

_I confessed to Brick that I loved him._

_Shit. Crap. Fuck._

**Wednesday, December 8 – 7:02 PM  
****Seven years previous**

_Brick has barely spoken to me since that party. I'm really sorry about not writing the entire summer and the last three months of school but I couldn't bare writing down the excruciating details. I don't want Brick to hate me. I just want things to be normal. _

_Butch and Blossom are still dating._

**NO ENTRIES UNTIL THREE YEARS LATER**

**Wednesday, January 3 – 11:39 AM  
****Four years previous**

_Happy twentieth to my sisters and I. Bubbles is helping Blossom fix up our apartment for the big party. It's been three years. Three long years and I don't know what possessed me to begin writing in this thing again. Maybe it's the fact I'm finally with Brick?_

_I know, shocking isn't it? We've only been together a couple of weeks but my sisters still don't know. I know Blossom is _still _with Butch but I don't want to imagine her reaction when she finds out. What, does she think she fucking owns Brick? Nobody else is allowed to date him? Wouldn't put it past her._

**Thursday, January 4 – 2:57 AM  
****Four years previous**

_Butch dumped Blossom. Butch dumped her. He. Fucking. Dumped. Her. Even though I still kind of hate Blossom, I feel so bad for her. It was horrible. He ripped her apart. I could tell Brick felt bad for her too. I really hope he still doesn't like her. I wouldn't be able to deal with that._

_Music is blaring, people are cheering, it's utter chaos and it's fucking awesome. There's a gigantic cake sitting on the food table that Bubbles spent the entire day baking and disco lights that Blossom asked the Professor to help her with. There are kegs and vodka bottles and brandy and wine everywhere and people are drunk as hell._

_Not me. Not yet, anyways._

_I'm sitting on the couch with Brick, our hands secretly intertwined, watching the scene. Blossom and some guy are making out in the corner while Bubbles is throwing popcorn into Boomer's mouth, giggling everytime he caught it. It's sickening. I wished so much that I could just tell everyone and I'd be able to freely snuggle into Brick and kiss him tenderly, just like we do in private._

_I get up and snatch a bottle of vodka before anyone else can. I settle myself back down next to Brick and take a giant swig. He's staring at me with that smirk of his and then grabs it from me, taking a drink of his own. We alternate drinking the vodka until it's completely empty and I'm already feeling a little tipsy from all the alcohol. Don't get me wrong, I love to drink, but now I just feel sick._

_Maybe that's what possesses me to kiss him. In front of my sisters and Butch and everyone. It's a heated kiss, so furious and passionate that I'm sure it's pretty revealing. I savour the moment so I don't notice Blossom's expression until after we're done. She's staring at me, her mouth agape and this weird expression behind her eyes. Is she…sad? No, she can't be. She never even liked him._

_And then there's Bubbles, squealing to Boomer so audibly that I'm sure people in China can hear her. It's so cheesy how she repeatedly keeps telling me how happy she is for us. Next to them is Butch and I can't decipher the expression on his face. Is he upset? Disappointed? Happy? He looks neutral like doesn't even care. I'm almost entirely sure he doesn't. He had his chance._

_I really love Brick. I wish I realized that sooner._

**Friday, January 5, 8:49 PM  
****Four years previous**

_I feel like a little girl, writing in my diary, even though, as of two day, I'm twenty years old. God, it feels so weird writing that down. I can't believe…twenty years already. I should probably stop writing in this thing. I'm getting kind of old. Not to mention it's a reminder of Blossom and I'm not entirely sure I will ever forgive her._

_Even though I don't like Butch anymore. It just feels like she betrayed me. _

_She didn't talk to me all day today or yesterday. I really wonder why?_

**Monday, February 19, 9:51 PM  
****Four years previous**

_Been busy with job interviews. Still together with Brick. Maybe life isn't so bad after all. Except that I still don't have a job. It's only part-time by the way. Still in university. Need money to pay the rent of our apartment. But I don't want a crappy part-time job. Maybe an internship?_

Yeah, that'd be cool.

**NO ENTRIES UNTIL TWO YEARS LATER**

**Saturday, April 18, 3:30 PM  
****Two years previous**

_Two years I've been together with Brick. He finally confessed that he loves me. Nearly six years I've been writing in this journal. I've been skipping many dates, but at least I haven't stopped entirely. I've actually grown very fond of this little book. I hope I never grow tired of it, but you never know._

_University is over soon. I've gotten As throughout these four years. Isn't that great? I've been channelling Blossom this whole time. It's kind of weird, but I'm proud. _

**Tuesday, August 4, 7:39 PM  
****Two years previous**

_It's over. School is over. I'll never have to go back. I feel so ecstatic right now. I still love Brick and I don't think I'll ever stop loving him. I really do hope we can spend the rest of our lives together. Is that too much to ask?_

_Smoked my first cigarette today. I can see why everyone says they're so addicting. I'm probably making the biggest mistake of my life, but I've made plenty of mistakes._

_Life is short. Then you die._

**Thursday, August 6, 2:35 AM  
****Two years previous**

_I had a big date at Spinelli's tonight, which is a very expensive Italian restaurant. Brick said he had some big news. At first I thought he meant that de Vito promoted him. (I know, he's already working at a huge firm. It's ridiculous.)_

_I cannot fathom how I am feeling right now._

_He._

_Just._

_Proposed._

_Yes, that's right. The huge rock on my finger is an engagement ring and we are getting married. I'm getting married. My dream is coming true. I think I'm going to cry._

**Friday, August 7, 1:16 PM  
****Two years previous**

_The look on Blossom's face when I told her. She actually looked upset. How dare she. Bubbles was happy for me, naturally. The wedding is in a year. Because I feel so great and generous, I graciously asked Blossom to be my maid of horror. Was Bubbles upset? Of course not. In fact, I think she really understood. Blossom seemed hesitant to accept. At least she did._

_One year. _

_I think I'm getting to old for journal writing. Twenty-two. I'm getting married at twenty-two. _

_Thanks for the memories._

_Maybe one day I'll find you again._

* * *

Buttercup glances at the clock. She isn't unduly worried but there is a tiny nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that insists that she should be. But Buttercup has always trusted everyone in her life. Maybe that is her greatest fault. The ones that she trusts the most are the most dishonest.

She is still in her slip from the night before, digging through a cardboard box of high school and university memories. She sits on the floor, her legs spread apart to accommodate the box them. Her robe is untied and forms a barrier around her body, like a pool of black silk.

Buttercup remembers how she used to be so aware. She wonders when she became so naïve and decides that marriage changes people. She can't decide if she was changed for the better or the worse. She can't decide if Brick has changed for better or worse. And she knows he has changed.

As she pulls out a ratty yearbook from her senior year in high school, the phone rings and she immediately jumps up, silently hoping that it is Brick calling, perhaps begging for her forgiveness and announcing that he is on his way, ready to finally make love to her and make up for all his faults in the past couple days.

Unfortunately her fantasy is not to be lived and instead it's Bubbles.

"_Hello? Hello? Helllooooooo?" _Bubbles' soft voice echoes cheerfully through the phone and Buttercup holds back an eye roll. Even after twenty-four years, she still cannot get used to that slightly annoying voice. It's too…jovial for Buttercup's taste. As much as she desires that everyone were perfect, she knows that this is nothing but a dream and life is too cruel.

She grabs a pack of cigarettes from the counter by the telephone and extracts a slender cigarette from the pack, tucking it gracefully into the corner of her mouth. She presses the phone against her shoulder and presses the side of her head to hold it there while she fumbles with her lighter.

"Hi, Bubbles," Buttercup replies when she manages to light her cigarette. She places it between her fingers and leans against the granite counter, occasionally inhaling deeply from her cigarette. It is customary for her to smoke nearly three packs a day.

"_What are you doing? Is Brick home?" _

Buttercup shakes her head, and then realizes that Bubbles cannot see her. Smiling at her stupid mistake, she replies with a simple 'no' and hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone. Buttercup freezes, her fingers poised in front of her mouth as she prepares to inhale the toxic of her cigarette.

"Why did you do that?"

Bubbles plays dumb. _"What are you talking about?"_

Buttercup growls. She is not in the mood for Bubbles naïveté. She is annoyed already at the fact that Brick still hasn't called and Bubbles is taking up precious time. Perhaps he is even trying to call now but can't get through due to the entirely pointless conversation between Buttercup and her ignorant sister.

"Stop playing dumb, Bubbles, I'm not in the mood. Brick still hasn't called and you're wasting my time," Buttercup snarls in the phone. She angrily pounds her cigarette into the mahogany ashtray by the phone, watching ashes scatter on the once-sparkling checked floor. She doesn't even care.

"_Well, do you know where he is?" _Bubbles asks.

"No, Bubbles, I don't know where he is," Buttercup replies sarcastically. "Of course, stupid. He's working on a project with a couple of colleagues from work. Apparently de Vito's expecting this project in a couple of days."

"_Oh, is that what he said?" _says Bubbles coolly.

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" Buttercup snaps. She moves around the kitchen, tapping her long scarlet nails on the counters as she progresses, completely irritated. Why is Bubbles calling to question Brick's motives? Buttercup just _knows _that he would never lie to her.

"_Nothing, maybe I'm just bitter because I just got fired," _Bubbles answers. She does sound bitter. _"But however convinced that you are that Brick has never lied to you, please talk to him." _Her voice slips into that soft innocent tone and Buttercup cannot contain another eye roll. It's that voice again.

"Whatever, Bubbles. The place you worked at was a basically discriminatory against everything that you can possibly discriminate against." Without another word, Buttercup simply slams down the phone and lets out an annoyed sigh. She still can't believe that Bubbles would have the audacity to probe her about her relationship with Brick.

But even so, Buttercup knows that when, _if _Brick comes home tonight, she will ask him.

_He would never lie to me._

* * *

**TO: **brickronalds at vitoenterprises

**FROM: **butch-ronalds at defusion

**SUBJECT: **No subject

**DATE: **December 8 – 5:32 PM

We need to talk. Don't avoid me.

Butch.

* * *

**TO: **brickronalds at vitoenterprises

**FROM: **butch-ronalds at defusion

**SUBJECT: **No subject

**DATE: **December 8 – 7:42 PM

Yo, I'm serious. Brick, where are you?

* * *

**TO: **butch-ronalds at defusion

**FROM: **brickronalds at vitoenterprises

**SUBJECT: **No subject

**DATE: **December 8 – 9:12 PM

What do you want, Butch? Come by my apartment tomorrow if you really need to talk. But I'm not saying anything, just to let you know in advance. So really, a talk is useless.

Brick

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Polska – As you can see, I ended with an email. I really like writing journal/diary entries. Buttercup's was fun to write. Anyways, I think I did a pretty good job on this chapter. Sorry for the late update. I know it might not really fit the chapter title, but Blossom's hysterical outburst was probably a main highlight in this chapter. I think I focussed more on the Buttercup/Butch aspect of this story.**

**Review? Yesssss. Thanks much. Feedback is greatly appreciated. **

**EDIT: August 19, 2012: Hay, guys and gals, I'm just going through these chapters and editing them for bad grammar and continuity errors. But for a fourteen-year-old, this chapter wasn't that bad!**

* * *

_**NEXT CHAPTER  
**_DELUSION


	3. Chapter III: Delusion

**PARANOIA**

**Polska – My main excuse for the lateness is that when I sat down and wrote half of the chapter, I just quit because I didn't know where to go from there. I'm sure many of you have experienced that before. But I love this story and I do NOT want to quit it, so I'm pretty sure most of you have forgotten about me and this story, but stay with me, because it gets much better. **

**Also, if you pay attention to that sort of thing, I took away the Blossom & Brick thing at the top of my story. That means I'm changing the outcome of the story. Or I may still keep them together, I'm not entirely sure. You'll just have to wait. ;) **

**Thanks for the reviews. I didn't like one of the last ones very much; Blossom is not a slutty, crazy, mega-bitch and I do not want to write anything with you. Thanks. :) By the way, I'm getting tired of all the fluff in this story so don't expect as much Brick/Blossom fluff in the future. And one more thing: I've been trying to incorporate a Bubbles or Boomer point of view, but I can never seem to fit them anywhere. Anyways, review please! :) **

_Sometimes it becomes difficult to pretend that things are real, and ultimately, being caught up so much into a lie leads to thinking that it is actually happening._

* * *

**DELUSION**

_n. fixed false belief that is resistant to reason or confrontation with actual fact_

**CHAPTER THREE**

_"Feel myself begin to sink_

_As the wind blows through my skin_

_Leaves me open to temptation."_

_- Piece by Piece, Feeder_

She is unused these lies; she has never done anything like this.

It is that lone fact that is going to drive her out of her mind.

She cannot live her life now without feeling her presence, thinking that she knows everything, even if it might not be the truth. It is that she is so restless, so used to that thought that nothing even feels real anymore.

Everything she feels and thinks she wonders if it is all a big lie.

And yet, it is so easy to become deluded.

* * *

It's unimaginable that he feels such indifference, that the love he feels for one is the love he should feel for another. Every night he goes home and feels nothing; he feels nothing for the woman he married. And yet, when he visits the other, his heart beats a heavy tattoo and he feels as if nothing else matters, as if no one else matters. Remorse does not scratch at him; it does not wind itself around his torso until he feels he cannot breathe.

There is not a single part of him that screams that anything about this is wrong. It's contrary, and it's so right.

Am I just so evil that Buttercup no longer matters to me?

Brick is alone for once. He is sitting on the corduroy couch in his living room, typing away at his laptop. There is a cup of cold coffee abandoned on the glass coffee table in front of him, on which he has propped his feet. He had sent Buttercup on a shopping trip earlier that morning, offering up his own credit cards. Not even the slightest bit suspicious, Buttercup graciously accepted his offer with the steamiest of kisses.

And Brick felt nothing.

A sudden loud banging on the door awakens Brick from his temporary trance. He jumps up, almost knocking his computer to the hardwood floor. Regaining his composure, Brick pastes his best innocent look on his seamlessly etched features and glides smoothly towards the tall black door. Opening it, he sees his brother on the opposite side, a grimace imprinted on his own face.

"Butch," Brick says courteously. Butch rolls his eyes at his brother's galling politeness and stalks past him. Brick patiently closes the door behind him and watches as Butch scrutinizes every inch of Brick's apartment, as though he has not seen it before.

On second thought, has he?

"So?" Brick asks walking over to where his brother is leaning against one of the expensive marble countertops. His arms are crossed, his lips are pursed, and his brow is furrowed almost angrily. Rubbing his nose, Brick takes off his reading glasses and sets them gently on the counter beside him.

Butch glares at him. "Have you no shame?" he says through gritted teeth.

Brick raises his eyebrows innocently, as though he has no idea what Butch is talking about.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Butch walks over to his brother and shoves his finger to his face, only inches away from his nose. Brick glares at it cross-eyed and pushes it away impatiently.

"Listen, asshole," Butch seethes, "you'd better fucking tell me the truth or so help me God—"

"So I was driving along the boulevard and I realized that I forgot my fucking wallet! So all your damn credit cards are still in my damn wallet which I fucking forgot…"

The door has burst open and Buttercup has walked in, rummaging through her purse as she speaks loudly. She glances up and stops short when she sees Butch standing there in mid-sentence. Buttercup places a manicured hand to her heart and her lips part slightly

"Did I—Did I…interrupt anything?" she asks, glancing from Brick to Butch. She slowly begins walking over to Brick. "Bricky?"

He waves her away impatiently. "Don't worry about it. Butch was just leaving." He glares at his brother intensely, warning him.

Butch ignores this and turns to Buttercup. "I was just talking to Brick about a little rumour I'd heard not too long ago." He smirks slightly at Brick, whose mouth has now gone slightly agape.

Buttercup cocks her head and runs a hand through her silky black locks.

"What happened?" she asks worriedly. "Is it bad? What happened, Bricky?"

"NOTHING!" Brick shouts. He glares at Butch again and motions towards the door. "In fact, I think it's time he gets his ass out of my apartment."

Butch nods smugly and waves slightly to Buttercup. "I think he's right, Buttercup. It's better if he tells you. That's a real smart idea, Brick."

And without another word, Butch slams the door to their apartment. There is a tense silence. Brick is still seething, his fists clenched at his sides. Buttercup purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

"So what the fuck was he talking about?" she asks, folding her arms across her overdone chest.

"What the fuck happened?"

_What has he done now?_

* * *

_Dear Professor,_

_How are you? How is Dr. Ronalds? I'm sorry that I haven't written in a while. Things have been pretty crazy around here, but I'll tell you about that later._

_I know you still disapprove my engagement to Boomer and I get it, but Professor, maybe it's time you get over it? We're getting married in three months and I really want you to come. Dr. Ronalds understands; Dr. Ronalds is even happy for me. Maybe you could be too?_

_I got cut from my job. You know, the place where I worked as a secretary to Wendell & Burkes, the two lawyers? Apparently they were downsizing. You know what I think? I think that's a big bucket load of shit. Forgive my swearing._

_I honestly don't know what Boomer and I are going to do. Boomer tries, but his job just doesn't pay enough and I haven't gotten a job yet. I'm thinking about opening my own New Age/Health Food shop where I can sell a bunch of handmade stuff. You really liked all the gifts I've sent you over the years and my herbal tea is really good._

_But it's not Boomer and I that I am worried about. It's my sisters. I know I'm the only one of us three that actually writes to you so you probably don't know what's going on, especially since I really doubt that Boomer, Butch and Brick write to Dr. Ronalds at all._

_I don't think I should be telling you this, since Buttercup would probably murder me (she still doesn't understand how to channel her anger) but I don't know where else to turn._

_Something is going on with Buttercup and Blossom; the tension is almost unbearable. I think that Brick is having an affair and I'm afraid to say that it might be Blossom._

_I don't know what to do._

_Please don't tell them I told you anything. I can't drift from my sisters, especially now if they may need me more than ever._

_Love,_

_Bubbles._

* * *

"So, Blossom, why are you here?"

Blossom clutches her hands on her lap, her knees tightly locked together. She sits up straight and stares at Dr. Elliot as he leans over his clipboard and studies her intently. A lock of his mussed brown hair flops over his left eye and he pushes it away absentmindedly, never taking his eyes off of her.

She is sitting in his psychiatrist office, on a worn wool couch that she has no doubt had sat many nervous wrecks before; people just like her.

Blossom is tense, unable to look the handsome doctor in the eye. She is regretting having ever made the appointment. Sitting at home, trapped behind an inalienable shield of possibly unwarranted paranoia seemed more appealing than revealing these thoughts to a licensed head-shrinker.

It was when she received an email from Brick that she decided to make an appointment. Brick had told her that Butch wanted to talk to him and Blossom had felt the buffer close in tighter around her and squeezing her until she did the only thing she could think of to escape.

"Blossom?" Dr. Elliot tries again. He leans over and places his hand upon Blossom's knee, clad in black trousers. Blossom shakes her head and stares at the hand on her knee. She brushes it away with her own and scoots slightly farther away. Dr. Elliot blushes slightly.

"I'm sorry, Blossom," he says. "It was my way of comforting you."

Blossom simply looks at him, her mouth parted as though she is trying to speak, but unable to.

"Blossom?"

She looks at him.

"Can you tell me why you are here?"

Blossom opens her mouth again. "I'm sleeping with my sister's husband."

The words sound so vile coming from her mouth. Blossom realizes that she has never spoken them aloud before, not like that. She stares down at the floor, resisting the urge to run from the room and burst into tears.

Dr. Elliot makes a note on her wooden clipboard. He leans back in his black leather chair.

"And why are you here?"

Blossom looks up and glances at the psychiatrist again.

"I'm here because I know that she knows. It's become so obvious to me, that daunting feeling of being watched and who else could it be but the sister I'm betraying? And it feels so right to be with him, but I want to stop, if I even can.

Dr. Elliot stands up and paces the room for moments before stopping in front of a large, open window. A light breeze ruffles the lacy, gold-rimmed curtains and the pink petals of the cliché flower on his windowsill. Blossom watches the flower intently, all noise blocked from her ears. She sees Dr. Elliot open his mouth and begin to speak but she cannot hear a single thing. She glances slowly around the room and fixates her gaze upon the open window.

"Blossom?" his soft tone snaps her out of her daze. Blossom looks up to see Dr. Elliot standing in front of her. He reaches out and caresses her cheek. Blossom closes her eyes and succumbs to his delicate touch.

"It's normal to feel a sense of uneasiness in an affair. But because you feel such incredible remorse, you cannot bear the thought of continuing every time you are with him for fear of losing your sister altogether."

Blossom nods. He moves his hand away but Blossom grabs it and places it on her cheek again.

"Please don't stop that," she says quietly.

He doesn't.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Blossom asks, shivering slightly. She leans into his hand and lets out the softest of moans. She can feel a throbbing sensation in her trousers as Dr. Elliot moves closer, close enough for her to feel his hot breath on her nose.

"You have to…um, you have to…tell your sister what is going on…or you will be subjected to a longer stretch of time of uneasiness and delusion…"

Blossom's lips on his neck cut him off. She kisses his neck, her eyelids fluttering. When she lifts her lips, Dr. Elliot catches them with his own. He kisses her thoroughly and tenderly, never removing his hand from her face. When he moves down to her own neck and slides one sleeve of her shirt off her shoulder, Blossom's eyes water and tears slide down her face. By the time he has reached her breast, she is crying liberally and silently, unable to stop.

_Please help me._

* * *

A satisfied smirk is etched onto Butch's face. He had not expected his visit with Brick to end that way, but there was no denying that it had ended the way he wanted. Surely now Brick would have no choice but to tell Buttercup the truth, to avoid further lying to her. Brick was never big on lying. Butch remembers him always reprimanding his brothers whenever he caught them telling the slightest of lies. Butch shakes his head at his brother's hypocrisy.

Of course Butch knows that inside he is not doing it because it is right, but because he wants Brick and Buttercup's marriage to fall apart. If that were to happen, Butch would be waiting on the sidelines, ready to comfort Buttercup as she falls into his arms and sobs on his shoulder. Then she would realize that he is the one that she truly loves and they would kiss passionately and make love in his rumpled sheets (he reminds himself to wash them). Afterward they would lie in bed, her head on his bare chest and he would tell her that he has always loved her and they would kiss once more.

Butch shakes his head. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and continues his walk down the sidewalk. It is about noon, and Butch remembers how empty his refrigerator had been that morning. Without a glance back at the tall, luxurious apartment building he's just left, Butch makes his way to the corner supermarket.

As he approaches, the automatic sliding glass doors open and Butch breathes in the refreshing cool air. Everything looks so delicious and Butch can't remember the last time he's gone to the supermarket. It may have been because he's ordered pizza or takeout for the past month and a half and only ate what was leftover for breakfast, lunch and dinner. When he ran out, he would order again.

Unsure of where to go first, Butch makes his way over to the produce section. There are yellow apples and green apples and red apples and an abundance of bananas and peaches and fruit that Butch had never seen before. He squints at the chalkboards above each stand and raises his eyebrows at the prices.

Deciding to hold off on choosing fruit, Butch walks over towards the deli. He scratches his head at the line in front of the glass cases. Confused, Butch approaches a short pregnant woman holding one of the red supermarket baskets.

"What's with the line-up?" he asks. The woman raises her eyebrow at him.

"You serious, bud?" she replies, her voice unusually and annoyingly squeaky. Butch is close enough to make out he light smattering of acne on her chin and the hair between her eyebrows that she obviously hasn't bothered to tweeze.

Butch raises his eyebrows. "Uh, yeah. Why are you all lined up like this? Can I cut in?"

The woman rolls her eyes. She points to a black box on the wall. Butch glances up at it and reads, "30".

"Yeah, take a number, bud," she snorts and gestures him towards the red round-shaped object with a piece of white paper sticking out through the opening. Butch takes the piece and crinkles his eyebrows at the number 57 on the slip.

"That's the number you gotta wait for before it's your turn," a familiar voice says from behind him. Butch whirls around and widens his eyes.

"Bubbles!" he exclaims. Standing in front of him, wearing an all-too familiar tie-dye shirt and frayed cut-offs is Buttercup's sister Bubbles. Her blond hair is loose and flowing and her eyes are make-up free. Buttercup would have been appalled.

Bubbles smiles up at him and Butch is pleased to note that her friendly smile has not changed all these years. He glances down at her feet and blinks once when he sees that she is barefoot. His eyes wander to the ground around her feet and he wrinkles his nose when he notices all the dirt that litters the once-white floor.

"Is Boomer okay with your feet like that?" he can't help commenting. Bubbles glances down at her feet and giggles.

"Of course. We're a 'no shoes' household," she replies, shrugging. "Shoes are a restriction of freedom and we're not like that. In fact, I'm not sure if he told you, but we're opening a new age-slash-health food shop."

Butch raises his eyebrows. He has forgotten that Bubbles has been fired. Well, he certainly can't blame the lawyers after seeing that Bubbles constantly walks around barefoot. Surely she abandons her strange shoe rule for work.

Butch's gaze then wanders over to Bubbles' basket, which only holds fruits, vegetables, and iron supplement pills. There is no dairy and instead there is vanilla soymilk and two selections of tofu. Butch shudders. He remembers that one time that Bubbles and Boomer had invited the four of them to dinner. He nearly threw up after Bubbles fed him a weird tofu concoction and remembers that he downed over five beers that night to get rid of the remaining tofu flavour in his mouth.

"So, where is this shop that you're planning to open?" Butch asks. "I'll come see it."

He and Bubbles are walking now, away from the deli and towards the cereal aisles. Cereal is one thing that Butch is sure he knows how to pick. After all, he lived his childhood eating cereal every morning and afternoon.

"You know that strip mall by Blossom's house, right?" Bubbles says as she pulls a puffed wheat cereal off of the shelf. "Yeah, we signed the lease, rent thing, whatever. Boomer's really excited. Now he can quit loading cargo from the docks, he says. Anyways, it's going to open by next month, for sure. We're spending time making the stuff, you know? It's all natural. None of that chemical stuff Blossom uses to scent her house or that store-bought tea Buttercup likes to drink for some reason."

Butch cracks a smile at Bubbles' passion. Back when they were teenagers, he had always known that Bubbles would be one to open a shop like that. He had been so surprised when she received her acceptance letter from Harvard. Yet now, while Bubbles was telling him all about her dream, he can't believe that Bubbles, who has a Harvard degree, would give up all that just become part-owner of a health food store. It's almost mind-boggling.

Bubbles stops talking and glances down at Butch's empty basket. Looking back at him, she cocks an eyebrow and shakes her head slowly as though making fun of him.

"Butch, when was the last time you went grocery shopping?"

Butch lifts his head, tapping a finger against his chin pretending to think. He grins at Bubbles and shrugs.

"Like, a month and a half ago?" he says as though he is not sure.

Bubbles' jaw drops. "No, seriously. Have you been living on all that takeout? Do you know what's in that stuff?" She shakes her head. "Come on, I'm taking you shopping."

Butch continues to grin, grateful to have a distraction from the real problem.

* * *

**December 9, Present**

**Diary: **

_I don't understand what's wrong with me. Am I one of those women who constantly crave sexual attention? It's like I cannot live one moment without some man shoving his hand down my pants. It's like I'm Meredith Grey, on that medical show. In fact, we may be exactly alike despite the one glaring fact that I'm not a doctor. Or a medical anything._

_You may think, "Well, if you're getting so paranoid, why don't you just quit the damn affair? Brick will have to understand. The man may not care that he is hurting his wife but you care that you are hurting your sister and it's affecting your mental state." But the truth is, I can't quit, as much as I sometimes want to._

_The truth is, I love Brick. I have always loved Brick. It was an unrequited love thing when we were teenagers because he loved me and I loved Butch and so did Buttercup. But I stole Butch away from Buttercup and as payback, she secretly took Brick. But did she really take him? I didn't love him then. So it can hardly count._

_I am under this big fat delusion, as Dr. Elliot told me, though not quite as inarticulately. He said that I am so full of regret and indecision that I think that Buttercup knows everything about what's happening right under her nose. Easy for him to say. The damn man spends his life listening to other people's problems without having to deal with his own and at the same time, pretending to care while he really thanks the universe that he does not have the problems we do._

_And yet I let the man touch me and kiss me while I cried and he moaned in ecstasy. There I was on my knees, nearly swallowing his dick whole while he groped my hair like no tomorrow. Did he not feel my tears or did he just not care, too consumed by the frenzy? But then, I suppose, he's not Brick. He just doesn't realize why I'm so lost. And after this morning, I'm not sure he even wants to understand._

_It could almost be ironic: I cheated on Brick who's cheating on Buttercup. And Dr. Elliot was most definitely cheating on his wife. I wonder if his wife is cheating on him. It's like a chain, a chain instigated by me and Brick. And even more ironically, Buttercup is the only one who has not betrayed anyone. Everyone thought she'd turn into the big seductress who could not keep a husband._

_Bubbles called me the other night. She sounded so happy. She wanted to tell me that she was opening a new age shop not too far from my house and if I ever wanted to stop by, I should. I told her that was great and then said that I was really tired and I should probably go. Poor delusional Bubbles was so excited about her shop that she didn't even seem to wonder._

_Unless she was simply acting like that because she didn't want to ask me the truth… I wonder if she knew. If she did, that performance was certainly Oscar-worthy. But Bubbles was always good at pretending. I wonder how she found out, if she does know? What if she tells Buttercup and that's all the proof that Buttercup needs?_

_Buttercup must know. Bubbles surely knows. I'm sure by that fact, Boomer knows and Butch obviously knows. Our families know the truth about my affair with my sister's husband… and they won't say anything. Why are they waiting for the perfect opportunity? It's sadistic._

_I wonder if Butch told Brick this morning when he visited. I mean, I wonder if he told Buttercup. I wonder if they fought. I wonder if he and Buttercup are settling on a divorce right now. I wonder if Buttercup and Butch are conspiring against me._

_Butch has always been an idiot. I remember that from when we were dating. I dated him for four years, all through high school and into university. Nobody saw us as the perfect couple. Everyone expected the typical "my hair color matches yours, so now let's date" couple. They expected me to be with Brick._

_"But his hair complements yours," Robin Snyder whined one day into our first year. I rolled my eyes. Just because Boomer and Bubbles were together they automatically expected Butch to be with Buttercup and Brick to be with me. Boy, were they mad when Brick dated Princess for a little while._

_"That's not how it's supposed to be!" my old friends from elementary screamed. It was almost funny how badly they wanted us to be with the boy who matched my hair color and complemented my eyes._

_But they didn't understand. Back then, with Brick, I just didn't feel anything. Sure the spoiling was nice. All the chocolate was good and the flowers were pretty and the necklace he bought me was the nicest thing I'd ever received (in fact, I still have it). But I just couldn't see myself with him._

_Present Blossom should shoot Past Blossom for being an idiot. Then none of this would've happened._

_But no, I was too wrapped up in Butch to realize my true feelings. I mean, I doubt Butch even liked me all that much. It may have been for the physical attraction, I suppose. I knew I found him extremely attractive and he told me many, many times that he also found me incredibly hot. So yes, I guess that's the true reason why I went out with Butch Ronalds._

_Stupid Blossom. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

_It really did break my heart when I saw Buttercup and Brick kiss on our couch that one night. Butch was already kissing some random girl in the corner (good for him, I didn't need the bastard anymore—but did he have to rebound so quickly?) so it pained me to see my own sister kissing the boy I'd always thought would love me. I'd always thought he'd be the man I'd come back to if my marriage in the future never worked out._

_But no, instead Buttercup is the one married to him and because it isn't working out, I am sort of the rebound girl, even though he isn't exactly broken up. But sue me for wishing he would, so I wouldn't feel so bad about betraying my annoyingly beautiful sister._

_It's like a role reversal, now that I think about it. Back then, I was always thought to be the one who would get married and live in a beautiful penthouse apartment while Buttercup moved from man to man, seducing everything with a penis. It was the future and it seemed inevitable._

_Bubbles is so lucky not to be directly involved in any of this. She and Boomer just live happily in their quaint little house in the suburbs. She's opening a freaking hippie shop, for Christ sakes. She doesn't need any drama in her life, especially not from her sisters. Especially when her wedding is so close._

_So what are you getting at, Blossom? Why do you keep discussing your past and trying to figure out what your sisters are thinking about? Why do you even think that Buttercup knows the truth about your little slutty affair with her fucking husband? Do you think she sits at home contemplating your demise while talking to Brick about what a little bitch you are?_

_It's because you're stupid, Blossom, because you had the chance when you were fucking sixteen. You had the fucking chance to make out with your red counterpart and make everyone else happy, not only yourself. But you were so delusional that you thought you were in love with Butch. He only wanted you for your body and looks, Blossom._

_Were you even happy with him? When you were together all those years, were you all warm and fuzzy inside? Oh sure he was a fantastic kisser and great in bed but did you ever exchange "I love yous" or talk about your feelings together? No, you didn't because he never loved you and you never loved him. It was purely physical._

_And now look at yourself. Every day you imagine that your sister is stalking you or whatever, looking for incriminating evidence. You think that everytime you kiss Brick she is alerted and you think that she's going to show up at your door spontaneously. Brick tells you not to worry, Blossom. So why are you still worrying?_

_Savour the feeling of being together with the man you've always loved but have always been too stupid to acknowledge. Even if Buttercup does know, how can she prove it? She has never seen you, as far as you know and if you keep telling yourself that she has, then you're going to drive yourself crazy. I mean, look at you. You're talking to yourself through your fucking diary._

_You're not fucking sane, Blossom, you're like a fucking schizophrenic. You're a fucking do-gooder you're a fucking failure why do you do these things to yourself why did you do that when you were sixteen why were you so fucking delusional why couldn't you accept the fact that you and Butch were never right for each other why are you such a slut why are you such a bitch why did you sleep with your fucking therapist you suck you suck you suck._

_As you can tell, diary, obviously I am not okay._

_-Blossom_

* * *

Blossom had trudged home after her strange and contemptible session with Dr. Elliot. She still can't believe what had transpired. It is bad enough that she is betraying her sister but to betray the only man she has ever loved? Blossom can't even believe it herself. She winces just thinking about it.

She sits on the couch in her living room, her head bowed and her hands clutching at either side of it. She feels the urge to vomit, but is unable to get up from her spot. It feels so good, so good to sit down alone on that couch that harbours so many bad memories. But it feels so good to Blossom, like a drug but doesn't make her delusional.

Dr. Elliot did not seem ashamed, Blossom notes. He acted like it was normal. Like he had done it before. Like it was completely normal for him to fuck one of his patients. He did not even seem remorseful when he zipped his pants and wished Blossom back for next week. She had caught a glimpse of his wife in a picture on his desk. She was pretty and looked entirely innocent. What would possess a man to cheat on his wife?

She supposes she can ask Brick the same question. However, there is a difference between Brick Ronalds and Dr. Patrick Elliot, she tells herself. The main difference is that Brick truly seems to love her, and had, he always tells her, for many years. Dr. Elliot had only known her for approximately twenty minutes before she decided to kiss him and make him feel manlier than he was.

Blossom groans and keels over on the couch. She lies on her side, clutching at her stomach. The need to vomit is far greater when she is lying down and Blossom can't contain herself. She bolts up off the couch and darts towards her gold tiled bathroom. She lifts the lid of the toilet and tilts her head forward, her hair falling forward as bile rises up her throat and escapes into the toilet with an unsatisfying plunk in the water.

Her knees buckle and soon she is on the ground, throwing up repetitively into the toilet. Soon strands of hair are covered in small chunks of vomit and her face is ghostly white, her mouth smeared with throw-up. She stands up weakly and shuffles over so she is leaning over the sink. Turning the faucet on, Blossom splashes water on her face and hair, attempting to clean them of her mistakes.

She shakes her head rapidly, feeling light headed. She winces as a sudden pain shoots through her lower back. The room begins to spin and Blossom teeters dizzily as though she is drunk and unable to keep her balance. She shakes her head again, trying to clear it. It works, somewhat, and when she opens her eyes she is not as dizzy.

Gulping, Blossom leans forward and opens her medicine cabinet. She rummages through make-up, shampoos, pill bottles that contained prescription drugs such as Valium, Xanax, and Vicodin, moisturizers and a supply of other hygiene products before extracting two small boxes from the back of the cabinet. She and her sisters had bought them months earlier as a joke in case they ever felt as though it was necessary.

"You never know what could happen if that condom breaks," Bubbles had said, shrugging as she took three boxes of the shelf.

She pulls out the components and gently arranges them neatly on the countertop around the sink. She skims through the tiny sheet that holds the instructions and tosses it aside. Blossom winces as she feels a convenient uncontrollable sensation in her bladder and hurriedly lifts the lid of the toilet seat, also grabbing the white test stick in the process. Almost feeling shameful, Blossom pulls down her pants and underwear and sits down gingerly on the pure white seat, closing her eyes as a tinkling sound is heard underneath her. She lifts the side of her bottom and tentatively aims for the stick in her hand. When there is silence, she closes her eyes and pulls the stick from the toilet bowl.

Holding her breath, Blossom holds it in front of her and opens her eyes. Staring at it as if she can't believe it, Blossom bits her lip anxiously and tosses the stick into the sink.

* * *

**December 9, Present**

**Diary:**

_I'm pregnant._

_-Blossom_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Polska – I'm not sure how to take a pregnancy test so I had to look it up on the Internet. Sorry for the possible inaccuracy. I tried my best. Anyways, I'm proud of this chapter. I thought I did a good job after starting off slightly rusty. Once again, I'm really sorry for the late update but there is no way in hell that I am discontinuing this story. I hope that people still review. (: **

**EDIT: August 19, 2012: Just letting you know about the edit. This chapter needed a lot of it.**

* * *

**_NEXT CHAPTER_  
**MELANCHOLY


	4. Chapter IV: Melancholy

**PARANOIA**

**Polska – I have no idea what's wrong with me. I planned out this chapter, hoping it would help get me going, but after I wrote the first part, which took me almost two hours, I had to stop. I don't know why. I struggled so badly to write the beginning to this story. I'm sorry for the delay, but hopefully I'll get to finishing it soon.**

**To one of my reviewers: I don't really know much about romance either but writing is my life and I'm actually not much older than you are (in fact, my birthday was on Friday and I just turned sixteen =D). But thank you for thinking that it's brilliant. In fact, thank you everyone for all your wonderful reviews. It means a lot to know of your high opinions for my writing. **

**Also, this chapter reveals a few more subplots for you, as my readers, to digest. It'll be fun. (: **

**Anyways, enjoy this new chapter and don't forget to review! (:**

_It's the downward spiral that taunts us, beckons us to come along while the despair eats away at our very beings. _

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* * *

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**MELANCHOLY**

_n. a gloomy state of mind; depression_

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"_Ouch, I have lost myself again  
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,  
Yeah, I think that I might break  
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe."_

_-- Breathe Me, Sia_

She has a melancholic state of mind.

Slowly the depression will begin to take over and slowly it will begin to corrupt her tainted thoughts.

It drives her down a dark, twisted road and down the spiral towards misery.

And in the end she must come to the conclusion:

Nothing but the truth can save her now.

* * *

She taught him how to survive for the next few weeks and for that Butch is grateful. The smell of fresh vegetables and meat wafts up from his plastic grocery bags and through his nostrils—and the weight of the bags will do wonders for his muscles. It brings a satisfied smile to Butch's face.

The air is still and the streets are quiet. The condominiums on either side of the road remain uncomfortably darkened and there appears to be no source of life from any of the structures around him. It's an unnerving silence that Butch is both used to and not used to—though the latter seemingly overpowers his thoughts and he quickens his pace.

It is still relatively the early AM but Butch has no regrets. He has accomplished much this morning—all of which will potentially benefit him in the near future. He remembers the heavy look of hatred that Brick shot at him before he left but it does not deter him. He only wants one thing and Brick continues to cling to it.

Butch sighs, a fog of breath escaping his mouth out into the cold near-winter air. Some sort of regret taints every square inch of him and he wishes he didn't have to feel this way. If only he had realized the truth back then; if only he hadn't lusted over Blossom so inordinately, without taking heed to such obvious resentment and sadness from Buttercup.

_If only._

Turning the street corner, Butch blinks back shock from his tearing green eyes. The lack of life from around the corner has been replaced by a certain rowdiness that could only occur at eleven o'clock in the morning. The area seems slightly rundown—but no more than Butch is used to—and graffiti seems to adorn most spots that are not living spaces.

The clear source of the unruliness comes from the short brick bar/diner (only at such cheap diners could there be such excitement over greasy pancakes and slightly burnt hash browns) not too far from where Butch has stopped. It has a flat roof and a neon sign that reads Mel's Bar and Diner, not yet lit up, and smashed beer bottles seem to commonly litter the cracked cement and green moss sprouting up between dark lines in the sidewalk.

In other words, to Butch it's nothing more than what he had grown up with—and almost preferred as compared to Brick's lifestyle.

He gingerly takes steps down the aging cement, shifting the grocery bags up and down his fingers. His fingers grow red as the weight in the plastic carefully digs grooves in his skin. The pain is a slight burning but Butch does not notice. He has faced worse.

He is not surprised to see the abundance of 'for sale' signs on browning lawns. Appearing by the bar is a dilapidated convenience store with poorly arranged wooden boards to cover a great amount of bullet holes in the glass paned windows and a small cracked tar parking lot decorated with broken glass.

It resembles…home.

As Butch makes his way towards the bar, he can tell from the downplayed noise that even rowdy soon-to-be drunks have respect for late-sleepers. He shakes his head and smiles faintly. It is not even noon yet.

"Butch?"

Butch whips his head in the direction of the voice and raises his eyebrows when he seems his brother, Boomer leaning against the stained brick of the bar-diner, a poorly rolled joint dangling between his middle and index fingers. His unintentionally unkempt blond hair, red-rimmed cloudy blue eyes and the five o'clock shadow on his chin are clear indications of poor sleeping habits and Butch wonders. Why is his brother so dishevelled? Though not being Brick, even Butch attempts to clean up a bit before leaving his house. And as long as he can remember, Boomer had always been the cleaner one of the two (though neither of them could compare to Brick).

"Boomer?" Butch takes small tentative steps towards his brother. He disapprovingly eyes the joint in his brother's hand—they'd promised to give up on the habit years ago—and then allows his eyes to travel up to Boomer's face, meeting his eyes. They look so tired and almost as uncomfortably darkened as the houses around the corner.

"Hey, bro," Boomer says, lifting the hand holding the joint almost pathetically. He seems to wince as he attempts a smile but Butch is too preoccupied with Boomer's overall appearance. His brow is furrowed almost comically but there is no amusement present in the small but tense atmosphere between the two.

"Dude, what's with the weed? I thought we said that's over and done with," Butch asks critically. His voice provides an uncommon paternal tenor, eliciting a chuckle out of Boomer.

"I needa let off a little steam once in a while, y'know," he says. "Besides, I'm getting married to a hippie. Not like she gives a shit if I smoke a little pot sometimes."

Butch raises his eyebrows again. Instead of sounding mellow and sleepy like before, his brother's voice has changed, almost sounding spiteful and accusatory when he mentions his fiancée. He has gotten the impression before that Bubbles and Boomer are having troubles but Boomer's tone sounds almost…angry.

He sighs and gently places the white plastic grocery bags on the stained ground by his feet so he is able to run a now-red hand through his mussed black hair. There are so many problems that Butch doesn't even know where to begin. In addition to Brick and Buttercup's eventual failing marriage, he now has to deal with Boomer and Bubbles, once Townsville's golden couple, and their weird but obviously serious thing (they _are _engaged).

"I was just with her, y'know," Butch says, gesticulating to the groceries lying abandoned on the ground.

Boomer takes a drag from his joint and closes his eyes. When they flutter open again, he offers the joint to Butch, who refuses. Shrugging, Boomer takes another drag, forcing Butch to wait even longer for his brother's reply.

"Who were you with?" Boomer asks coolly, his eyes glazing over.

Butch licks his lips, forcing himself to stay composed. "With Bubbles, Boomer."

At the sound of her name, Boomer's eyes shoot open and he focuses a mean glare on Butch. Scoffing, he leans back and tosses the joint to the ground, watching it slowly burn through the cannabis.

"Nice," he snorts. "She can't be bothered to be with me but when it comes to my brothers, it's all, 'oh my goshhh, let's hang out'." He changes his tone to a high-pitched mocking that does not sound a thing like Bubbles.

Butch opens his mouth in protest. "But that's not it at all. She was shopping for groceries and I was running out of food so she helped me."

Boomer looks at him, his eyes narrowed. "I'm sure she did help herself, that little slut."

Butch feels his jaw drop and his hands clench into fists. Even if Boomer is his brother, he has no right to talk about women like that, let alone his own fucking _fiancée._

Allowing the anger to fully and quickly consume him, he punches Boomer in the face.

_That fucking bastard…_

_

* * *

_

_November 12, Present_

_Dear Professor,_

_I sent you a letter last week, but you haven't replied yet. I guess you must be pretty busy. I guess I am too. Wendell and Burke are crazy. Those guys need a good aromatherapy massage. Their frown lines have frown lines. I don't think I've ever seen so many stress marks on a person before._

_You were pretty rude to Boomer last time we all got together. I forgot to mention that in my last letter but was it absolutely necessary to call him a worthless, lazy bastard who will never be good enough for his little girl? I thought you didn't condone swearing, Professor. I thought you didn't condone insults._

_I love him. He loves me. If he's lazy and worthless, so am I. Boomer and I are like one person. I have never cared about anyone this much since you and the girls. I know I shouldn't say this, but maybe even more than you and the girls._

_And what was with that nonsense when you said that you saw him smoking marijuana? Boomer is too good for that. He told me he and the guys quit that shit (pardon my language) years ago. I know you're trying to break up this relationship, but my God you don't have to lie. _

_I don't see why you didn't have this big of a problem with Buttercup and Brick. Is it because Brick is rich? Is it because he became such a high-ranking employee of such a high-ranking businessman at such a young age? That's really superficial, Professor. You of all people should money doesn't mean squat._

_I don't want to be angry with you, Professor. I just think you make too many unnecessary comments. You're not going to break us up. You're not going to do anything except ruin our relationship. You're not going to do anything except force me to lose my respect for you._

_I'm almost there._

_Bubbles_

_

* * *

_

"Brick…? Bricky?"

Brick stands motionless, unable to look at his wife, who is trying valiantly to get his attention. His mouth is set in a firm, tight line and he is gripping the edge of the granite countertop so forcefully that his fingers are paling. Who knew that his brother had the audacity to barge into Brick's apartment and accuse him of cheating, directly in front of Buttercup?

Buttercup props her hands on her slim hips and shoots her husband a glare. "Brick Ronalds, you better answer me right this minute or I swear to God…"

He can't believe he has never noticed how absolutely annoying her voice is. It's like a little bug that he can't squish…it keeps buzzing around his ears tauntingly as though daring him to even try. He allows his eyes to travel to her face, which is set in an angry grimace and then down to her curvaceous body, covered in tall black boots, a black pencil skirt and a revealing white short-sleeved blouse. What is she trying to prove with all that cleavage?

"Brick fucking Ronalds! Answer me this instant!"

Brick grits his teeth. He closes his eyes and inhales in an attempt to calm himself. He rubs his palms against his temples, as though attempting to massage her voice out of his head. Taking a few deep breaths, he lowers his hands and stares Buttercup in the eye. Her persistence is not going to get her anywhere but it seems she refuses to acknowledge this. So he reaches over the counter and behind a marble vase filled with tulips, extracting a set of black, gold and silver credit cards from behind the decoration.

"Go shopping," he says shortly, shoving the credit cards into her hands. He ignores her confused expression and raises his hand, signalling that the discussion is done and she'd better leave before he decides that there no longer will be any more discussion.

She shoots him a disdainful glare but turns on her heel, grabbing her black belted trench coat from the bar stool and designer leather bag from its haphazard spot on the corduroy couch as she stomps down the hall and slams the door behind her.

Brick sighs, relieved for the peace and quiet. He shuffles languidly towards the couch and collapses tiredly upon it, resting his legs directly beside his laptop, which continues to lie untouched on the glass coffee table. He rests his head back against the couch, spreading his arms out against the scratchy exterior of the furniture. When did things get this complicated?

He knows that when he decided to sleep with Blossom on his own wedding night that things would get convoluted. He just doesn't understand how it has gotten this difficult…he thought he and Blossom would live their scandal in secrecy…

Sending Buttercup off on her shopping trip will only delay the inevitable, he knows. But it certainly gives him time to relax—he was _this _close to losing his temper—before she decides to come back.

His eyes wander towards the picture on the brick fireplace mantle a little ways away from him. It is a picture of him and Buttercup not too long after he had proposed to her that night at Spinelli's. They look so happy, so genuine…his eyes are not full of secrets in that picture. She looks pleased to simply be in his arms, not a manipulative, obsessive bitch that she turned into after their marriage. Back then, she didn't care whether or not he brought in five hundred grand a year or fifty. As long as they were happy.

But not anymore—she became obsessive. She became unhappy with every little thing he did. Even the sex isn't so good anymore. It has become too forced and mechanical, like everything is a job for her and it. Has. To. Be. Perfect.

Eventually they both just stopped trying. Marriage became nothing but a once-blissful memory and they realized the struggle of keeping it alive, of keeping it healthy. Even if he had not slept with Blossom that night, he knows in his heart that their marriage would not have stayed strong. In fact, in a way it's _because _of Blossom that he and Buttercup are still together. It's because of Blossom that Buttercup can continue to live in her little delusion.

He doesn't want to hurt her. Somewhere, deep down, he knows he still loves her. After all, he managed to give up, somewhat, his unrequited love for Blossom, all for Buttercup. But it's true that it doesn't mean a thing if he can't stay in love with her. That's what marriage is built on; love and loyalty—and if there is no loyalty, then the structure is non-existent and everything will fall apart.

Brick sighs. The penthouse is quiet; he can hear his breathing and the ticking of the ugly oak clock that the Professor had sent them as a wedding gift. _Tick-tock. _It's an ominous, unnerving silence. The refrigerator hums and occasionally, as Brick shifts in his seat, the corduroy adjusts itself. He glances at the clock. It has only been ten minutes.

He wonders what Butch is doing. He can still picture that smug, idiotic, shit-eating grin on his obnoxious face. Brick knows what his brother's plan is. He remembers the wedding. Butch was being a bastard, as usual, and he was attempting unsuccessfully to hit on Buttercup. Brick has always known Butch is a chauvinistic player, but to hit on his brother's wife? There is no excuse for that.

But then he thinks about it—if Butch wants Buttercup so badly, then Buttercup will have to realize that for herself. Brick will not break up with Buttercup unless she wants him too. He will not break her heart. He will not break Blossom's. He will keep them both under a melancholic delusion. He is not a heartbreaker, not intentionally.

He turns over on his back and lies there for a few moments, crossing his hands across his chest and staring up at the ceiling. Why is it such an ugly wood-panelled ceiling? Someone ought to shoot the architect for creating such a revolting ceiling. It reminds Brick of a log cabin.

He closes his eyes, picturing the last moment between him and Blossom again. She looked so sad and vulnerable in his arms but yet he could not agree with her paranoid delusions that someone was watching her. She was hysteric, that's all. Brick opts to fall asleep, hoping that when he wakes up, he will realize that it has all been nothing but a bad dream.

Seemingly not too long afterwards, a sharp grip in his shoulder awakes him. His eyes flutter open, and he blinks up at Buttercup, who is digging her long scarlet nails into his shoulder. Though not properly awake, the pain dawns on him and he winces. Buttercup, however, shows no sign of letting go.

"Don't think I've forgotten," she says threateningly. He slowly sits up, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubs his nose. When he opens them, Buttercup is still glaring at him unblinkingly. Her copious shopping bags lie in a haphazard assortment by the coffee table, and it seems that her blouse is unbuttoned even further, revealing more cleavage than necessary. It seems to Brick like a ploy to get him to tell her everything. He grins, unable to contain himself. She should know by now that he is not Butch.

"Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face," Buttercup sneers, gritting her teeth. She looks slightly less attractive with such an ugly look on her face but not unattractive enough to classify her as ugly, average, or even pretty. She is still beautiful but does not look less bitchy than before.

Brick sighs and rubs his eyes. He throws his legs over the couch and gently reaches for her wrist. "Buttercup, what do you want from me?"

Buttercup twists her wrist away, folding her arms across her chest. She had tried the cleavage ploy as a desperate attempt to get Brick to tell her everything, even though she knows it would not have worked. Brick prefers intelligence to…assets and as much as it pains her to think about, she knows she is more of the latter than she is the former.

"I want you to tell me what Butch was talking about earlier," she says, her tone softening slightly. "What is this rumour?"

Brick rubs the back of his head, tousling his auburn hair slightly. It looks sexy, messy like that, Buttercup decides. But she shakes her head slightly, forcing herself to not get distracted over her husband's good looks. It should be easier than this. She shouldn't have to question her husband's loyalty to her.

He grips her hands and yanks her down on top of him. Staring directly into her eyes, he says, "I swear to you, Buttercup, it is nothing. It's nothing that isn't typical Butch. You know what he wants, Buttercup."

He continues to stare, hoping that those words are enough to deter her from this conversation, at least for a little while. He knows he can be impossibly convincing, and prays that this is one of those times. He is relieved when she sighs and tells him that she believes him, for now.

Because she does know what Butch really wants.

_This conversation isn't over yet._

_

* * *

_

_God, my head is pounding._

Blossom blinks up at the ceiling, running the backside of her hand over her forehead. Her vision is slightly fuzzy and her diary lies under her body, near her pillow. She is lying uncomfortably on the couch, having collapsed there after taking that influential pregnancy test.

_Pregnancy…_

She bolts up into sitting position, wincing at the quick movement. Her head thrums, as though someone is pounding her head with gong mallets. She runs her hands in the air in front of her face slowly, trying to soothe herself, but to no avail. The mere thought of that fateful test seems to urge the mallets to pound even harder and she falls back on the couch.

Blossom closes her eyes and pinches the skin underneath them, rubbing it tiredly as though she has given up. The skin is dry and crusty from her tears and she is sure that her eyes are as red as her hair. When had fate decided that getting her pregnant would be a suitable consequence?

She sighs. There is no use moping over something that has gone far beyond her control. She struggles to lift her legs over the edge of the couch. They feel so heavy. She has to muster all of her strength to accomplish a task that should be so much easier to achieve. Eventually her feet are planted firmly on the white shag carpet.

Her arms lie uselessly at her sides. She digs them into the couch and mightily pushes herself up, wobbling a bit in place when she manages to stand upright. Why is she so weak? Her crying couldn't have drained her energy that much. She feels as though her muscles are entirely non-existent.

She glances at the clock. It is nearing four in the afternoon. Her appointment with Dr. Elliot had been at ten o'clock that morning. All she distinctly remembers doing is anxiously awaiting the test result that would determine her stupidity once and for all. When had things spun so far out of control?

"What should I do, what should I do…" she mumbles disjointedly, gracelessly stumbling into the coffee table as she makes her way towards the yellowed phone—a classic, albeit an ugly one and unquestionably her worst house-warming gift—on the crimson-painted wall by the bathroom door. She stares at it for a few minutes, trying desperately to determine what she should do with it.

Picking up the receiver, Blossom allows a long spidery finger to linger anxiously over the buttons. She weakly punches in a phone number, cringing at the portentous-sounding dial tone in her ear. It is loud and taunting. _What are you doing, Blossom? Are you sure you're making the right decision, Blossom?_

'_Yes,' _Blossom decides, thinking carefully. _'This is the right choice.'_

"_Hello, Dr. Burnham's office_," a female attendant says coolly over the phone.

Blossom stops, panicking. What is she supposed to say?

"_Hello?"_

Blossom manages to regain her composure after a few moments. "Uh, hi," she manages to spit out, not eloquently and without much articulacy. "My name is Blossom…uh, Utonium. Um, I'd like to book an appointment with Dr. Burnham."

"_What is the nature of your appointment?" _the woman over the phone asks, sounding bored.

Blossom thinks. "I think I'm pregnant?" she responds, sounding almost unsure of herself. Saying the words aloud begin to dawn on her. God, what if she really is pregnant? How could she allow herself to get _pregnant_?

"_Please hold," _the woman says and Blossom holds. She hears fingers clacking against a keyboard and a mouse clicking. Finally, the woman reappears on the phone.

"_We have an opening at 2:45 pm this Thursday,_" she drones.

"I…I can do that," Blossom manages to reply. She glances at the calendar—Sunday. She relays her personal information to the snippy woman on the other end of the phone and feels an immense sense of relief wash over her when they mutually hang up.

Blossom feebly attempts to place the receiver back in its holder before she turns her back and slumps against the wall. The phone slides out of its spot and knocks against the wall, but Blossom does not notice. She closes her eyes and grips knees tightly with her hands until they both pale. There is an intimidating silence, fitting enough for her to sit solemnly in until she finally feels the strength to stand up and trudge awkwardly towards the bathroom.

The scene is familiar and the area unclean from her last visit. The two boxes from her pregnancy tests lay disconsolately on the floor by the toilet and her various cosmetic bottles sit awkwardly with all her prescription pill containers. Blossom roughly shakes her head, gritting her teeth. The mess is mocking, painfully reminding her of her mistakes.

But then her eyes flutter over the mess of bottles on her countertop and she spies a small orange prescription container standing upright amid the fallen bottles and cosmetics. The white label is slightly scratched off at the corners as if someone had tried to remove the name but gave up after the white paper would not budge. She reaches, with shaking hands, towards the bottle, picking it up gingerly as though it will shock her.

_UTONIUM BUTTERCUP._

Shocked, Blossom drops the bottle and takes a step back, raising her hands slightly in the air as though she has been burned. Buttercup had not left that container on her last visit. She had not offered it to Blossom as a gift, as a promise to relax her. Blossom leans down to pick up the bottle, confirming her fearful thoughts that it is indeed Buttercup's Celexa prescription.

Her anxiety pills—her antidepressants.

And then before she can stop herself, Blossom pops the lid and shakes out one…and then another and then three more. Without dousing them with water, she throws back her head and allows them to slide into her mouth and down her throat.

_I can't take it anymore…_

_

* * *

_

"_BITCH!" Buttercup cried, slapping Blossom on the back. "What the hell are you still doing here?! That huge ass dorm party being thrown is, like, on in like ten minutes! Why are you still studying?"_

_It was true_—_while Buttercup was dressed in tight black jeans and a cleavage-baring white top, Blossom was sitting at her desk, one of her many, heavy textbooks open in front of her, along with a notebook filled with five pages of fresh notes. She angrily tapped her pencil against the desk, trying to ignore her sister's pestering._

"_Blossom…" Buttercup whined. "Why are you being such a loser? You haven't been to like a single party this year. It's already November. It's college. I get studying is super important, blah, blah, blah, but you have to let loose sometimes."_

_That was it. "Enough!" Blossom yelled, tossing her pencil to the side. She heard it clatter almost noiselessly against the wall, somewhere on her roommate's side of the room. Oh well, she'd get it later. _

_She turned around in her chair, preparing her Glare. It was a look enough to silence the mouths of anyone, even Butch, who didn't shut up for anybody. Not even her when they were together (they were secretly off-again, not that her sisters or his brothers would know—Blossom didn't like to share the details of her relationship—or now lack thereof—with Butch, and she knew he didn't either)._

_But Buttercup remained unaffected. She disinterestedly waved her hand and wandered over to Blossom's tiny closet. Blossom watched as her sister carelessly rummaged through it. Sometimes she would hold up an article of clothing, wrinkle her nose and throw it over her shoulder. When there was a steadily growing pile of clothes on the ground, Blossom stood up and yanked the grey wife beater from Buttercup's hands._

"_Buttercup," she said slowly, "enough. I'm not going to this party. I have studying to do."_

"_Study, study, study," Buttercup said, rolling her eyes. "All you do is study. One party, Blossom, you're a nervous wreck. One night is all you need to blow off a little steam. Maybe get laid…or not. Butch wouldn't like that, would he?"_

_She winked and Blossom felt her face burn. No, Butch would not like that. But they were temporarily not together again. If she wanted to sleep with someone, there was technically nothing he could do about it… _

_Blossom shook her head. No, what was she thinking? She wasn't going to this party. She turned and stared at the textbook open on her desk. Suddenly, it didn't look very inviting anymore, whereas the filmy, strapless pink number in her sister's hands…did. She imagined herself making her way through a sweaty dorm, pushing past gyrating bodies and feeling as though she finally belonged. All of her anxieties would be gone._

"_So if I go to this party," Blossom began thoughtfully, "you would _never _bother me again? I can study in peace?"_

_Buttercup nodded excitedly, the garments in her hands shaking. She looked like a little child when asked if she wanted some cookies. But one look at her scantily clad body and one would be reminded that Buttercup was the farthest thing away from a little child…she was an (almost) maturing nineteen-year-old girl who, Blossom could tell, would never truly forgive her but was still trying to be sisterly and rescue Blossom from herself._

_Blossom sighed dejectedly. She grabbed the clothes—the pink top and skinny jeans—from Buttercup's arms and marched into the adjacent bathroom to her room. She pulled off her hoodie and camisole and adjusted the shirt around her bust—it was low enough that it forced Blossom to wear it without a bra—and slid her lithe legs into the dark jeans. She pulled her long red hair out of its comfortable ponytail and watched as it settled into place as waves around her shoulders. She glanced into the mirror, which could reveal a medicine cabinet. She looked almost pretty. _

"_Whoa, Blossom, you're a babe!" Buttercup exclaimed when her sister marched out of the bathroom, her arms pressed against her sides tightly. She slung her arm over Blossom's shoulder and led her through the doorframe where loud booming music could already be heard down the rickety stairs. _

"_Trust me, you won't regret this."_

_Blossom uneasily shuffled behind Buttercup as they made their way down the stairs. She watched anxiously as her socially adept sister began mingling through the crowd, laughing and smiling at random people who Blossom had never seen before in her life. Clearly she had been missing out after staying cooped up in her room for so long. She even caught sight of her roommate, Megan, doing body shots on a pool table near the corner of the room. This party painfully reminded Blossom of a sorority party._

_Suddenly she wished she really did belong at a sorority. Then maybe she would at least look like she belonged._

_The night was tough. She barely knew anybody at this party (clearly Butch had made it a point not to come—and Brick probably thought he was too cool to come to a simple _dorm _party) and the music was not her style. Girls were dancing like trash and the guys didn't seem to have much of a problem with it. The whole scene appalled Blossom. She rubbed her head, trying ineffectively to rid herself of her awful headache._

"_Hey, baby," someone cooed sloppily into her ear. Blossom whirled around from her place on the wall (she was a regular wallflower) and saw that the voice was coming from a tall boy with a blond buzz cut. He probably would have been attractive to someone like her roommate and Buttercup, who seemed willing to flirt with anyone with a dick, but to Blossom he was almost disgusting._

"_Whas a pretty girl like yooou doin' over here like a looooozer?" the boy slurred. His breath stank like beer and smoke and Blossom caught a whiff of weed rising up from his clothes—she always tried desperately to get Butch to quit the nasty habit. _

"_I'm…" Blossom looked around, searching for Buttercup. The guy was advancing slowly towards her. Nobody seemed to really notice, or care. The music had changed to some sexually inviting rave song and almost every person was holding a red plastic cup of beer. _

"_Come on, baby, you look so lonely," he crowed, roughly running his calloused fingers up and down her arms. She looked down at his hands and then up at his face. His pupils were dilated and he looked down at her with a sick smirk on his face. She tried to pry his fingers off her wrists but he caught her hands in his and gripped them tightly._

"_Aw, don't be like that…"_

_Blossom shook her head, unable to speak. She had tried to have fun. She had followed Buttercup down to this party. But so far all it had done was give her a splitting headache and shake up her nerves even more. The whole thing was too fucking stressful._

_She did the only thing she could think of and kicked the guy in the crotch. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground._

"_Frigid bitch!" he yelled as she began running through the crowd. Why had she listened to Buttercup? _

_She was about to turn the corner when something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. It seemed as though Butch was there after all—except he wasn't alone. He was sitting on a chair in the corner, some scantily clad girl with long reddish hair cascading down her back. They were sitting a little too close to simply be talking…_

_What the fuck?_

_She turned on the heel of her flat ankle boots and darted up the stairs, her eyes burning. So it was apparently all right for Butch to screw some random chick but for her, he would beat the guy senseless?_

_Blindly, Blossom wandered down the hallway, away from the pounding music. She pushed open the door to her sister's room, which was a floor lower than hers, and found herself amid a mess of clothes and books. Despite her frustration, she had to smile—Buttercup had not changed at all._

_She pushed through the mess on the floor until she was in the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Her heart pounded in sync with her head and she yanked open the mirror in Buttercup's bathroom. She rummaged through the containers, searching for some Advil or Tylenol to calm her headache. _

_What. The. Fuck?_

_Blossom slowly extracted a small orange bottle from the back of the shelf. BUTTERCUP UTONIUM, it read. 200MG OF CELEXA. _

_Buttercup wasn't depressed. Why did she need Celexa? She didn't seem like the type to have anxiety disorders either…why was there a prescription bottle of an antidepressant pill in her sister's medicine cabinet? _

_Flashes of memories ran through Blossom's head like a windows moviemaker video. First Buttercup's insistence, buzz cut boy and Butch and trashy-fake-redhead-slut, and now finding out that her own sister had a pill prescription for antidepressants? Something was entirely wrong with this picture, and Blossom absolutely hated it. She gritted her teeth together tightly and clenched and unclenched her fists. _

_So she did the only thing that her brain would allow her to—she wrapped her fingers around the bottle forcefully and slammed the cabinets shut. The bottle was still mostly full—Buttercup wouldn't miss it._

_

* * *

_

"Hello?" Bubbles hears her voice echo slightly through the empty front hall as she pushes the door open and takes a tentative step on the large carpet in front of it. Their home is small but cozy and is situated in a small, old suburb where all the houses look relatively alike, despite not quite reaching to Blossom's house standards, or even Butch's. But Bubbles has never complained before.

She gently wipes her dirty feet on the side carpet and slides her feet into a pair of slippers that aren't nearly as comfortable as the furry ones she always concedes to lecture her sisters and Boomer's brothers about. She shuffles down the hall and grips the peeling doorframe as she pokes her head around the corner.

"Boomer?" she gasps, noticing her fiancée leaning against the sink in their tiny kitchen, an icepack wrapped in a dishtowel pressed against his cheek. The arm that is not holding the pack is resting on the inexpensive kitchen counter, a peeved expression plastered on his face. His eyes are closed serenely and his feet are crossed at the ankles, allowing all his weight on his right leg.

His eyes shoot open at the sound of her voice and his eyes narrow slightly, but soften when he notices her concerned appearance. Bubbles hurries over, abandoning her bag of groceries at the raised platform of tiles in the door. She gently pulls the icepack away from his grasp and presses it against his face herself.

He winces. "Ahh, thanks, Bubbles."

She smiles placidly, not saying anything. They stand in silence for a few minutes until Bubbles notices an odd stench in the air. She sniffs the area around herself and Boomer before focusing her now narrowed attention on him. The smell is coming from him, apparently and it is an oddly familiar smell at that.

"Boomer," she begins slowly but sternly, "what exactly have you been doing all day?"

He promised her. He promised her that he would give up the habit. Is that why all the money from their money jar is missing? Because Boomer spends it all on fucking _marijuana_? She always assumed it is because he was finally deciding to help out with the upkeep of their home…not because he is spending it on drugs.

"You still smoke it?" she yells, tossing the icepack to a random corner in their cramped kitchen. She plants her hands on her hips angrily stands her feet sternly into the kitchen tiles, an odd change from her normally mellow persona. Boomer, however, seems unaffected and even a little angry himself.

"Is that how you got that bruise on your cheekbone?" she shouts. "You got a little drunk, smoked a little weed, got into a fight at fucking noon?" Bubbles doesn't swear but she has been putting it into habit lately, all because of Boomer, the man she loves but who is clearly not showing the same feelings back to her.

"Get off my back!" he suddenly yells back to her. Bubbles is taken aback. Is he actually defending himself?

"You don't know shit!" he continues, advancing towards her. Bubbles takes a step back, alarmed at his sudden eruption. "Where were you this morning, huh? Shopping with Butch? Yeah, I fucking know _all _about that. Grocery shopping, right. You're a liar, Bubbles. I thought you were better than that."

"No! You're the liar!" she yells back. "You promised me you wouldn't smoke anymore! And don't bring Butch into this! He is actually being a good friend, unlike you!"

Boomer's eyes cloud over with such an angry force that Bubbles has never seen before. He is glaring at her with a look of…almost hatred and suddenly she's scared. She is pissed at him for lying and being delusional and accusatory but she can't help but regret yelling at him.

He advances at her then and before she can comprehend what is happening, he pushes her back and she falls against the wall, banging her head slightly against the painted framework. He stomps out of the room, but not before stopping at the door and yelling something painfully coherent to Bubbles.

"Well, it's your new fucking best friend who really did the shit here!" he shouts. "Nice to know who your loyalties lie with." And with one final sneer at her, he stomps down the hall and all Bubbles can hear next is the door slamming and a vulgarity being directed towards her before he leaves.

The bump on her head steadily grows larger and painful in cohesion with the hole in her heart that shows no sign of ceasing to break.

_I don't think he loves me anymore…_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_

* * *

_

**Polska – Man, I was on a role with this chapter after the very first part with Butch and Boomer. It's my longest chapter, so I hope you accept that as a sort-of apology from me. A lot of subplots were introduced in this chapter, along with even more plot holes—which will be revealed in turn, don't worry. The Celexa subplot has been in my mind since the very beginning, and it is necessary for the Blossom plot to develop. Next chapter will feature movement in the Blossom/Brick/Buttercup love triangle; so don't give up on me now! (:**

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_**NEXT CHAPTER**_  
BLISS


	5. Chapter V: Bliss

**PARANOIA**

**Polska – I just haven't been inspired for this story, that's all. But I suddenly felt like finishing this chapter. Here is the next chapter of my favourite story on here. :) I hope people still review…**

_An elated feeling of delusion soon brings to consideration that perhaps every melancholic sensation is overpowering any previous sense of reality._

_

* * *

_

**BLISS**

_n. supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment _

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"_Why are you here?  
Are you listening?  
Can you hear what  
I am saying?  
I am not here.  
I'm not listening.  
I'm in my head.  
And I'm spinning."_

_- Fallen, 30 Seconds To Mars_

The bliss is temporary, due only to a thick cover of misconception. It's a strange sort of semi-psychosis that trails from the dominant paranoia overpowering everything.

The bliss is desperate, a false, hopeful sentiment that shies away from truth and veracity and sets a fixed sense of belief in their corruptible minds.

The bliss is a desire and a cover, refusing to allow the true melancholy to taint the wishful fantasies.

The bliss builds impermanent utopias and strengthens delusions to the point where reality is nothing but a myth and a memory.

* * *

The tingles are unnatural, creating an incomprehensible fuzz in her brain that fills her with a sensation of pure euphoria. She feels inexplicably jubilant, fighting a constant urge to reveal this elation to the world—to stand on the rooftops and shout from this abnormal buzz that she is elated beyond belief; she wants to dance and sing and smile and she's never felt better.

Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she realizes that it's all false; that in a few imminent hours she will no longer be rendered with this strange feeling of ecstasy (then, she wonders, giggling inwardly, if that is the cause of her elation?), and everything she's fought so hard to be rid of will return and the cycle will begin all over again.

Oh, contentment is a foreign concept—what is happiness? Sex is happiness; it is a tight effervesce in regards to this. Work…yes; work is an atypical source to her personal pleasure. She likes to work—the sense of pride that comes along with it is a wonderful feeling. And…yes, she could never forget _him. _He fills her with enough jubilation to make her heart soar beyond her chest.

She giggles as her thoughts stray towards the initial thought—it would cure her sadness, if only temporarily, and now she finds it so…naughty, for lack of a better word. There's something strangely romantic and alluring about a surreptitious affair, however illicit it may be. A familiar heat spreads up her body and she bites her lip anxiously, willing for him to be there with her and ignite that heat into a wildfire.

Her brain feels fuzzy, infested with white noise and microphone feedback. Perhaps swallowing five prescription pills at one moment had not been a good idea…no, perhaps not. But there is no denying its effect—its wonderful, albeit unnatural, effect. She is giggly, insides grinning a blissful smile, and despite the buzz in her head, it's a nice, contented buzz. It's happy too.

She's constantly reminded of him now—his ability to fix her, to burn that spark furiously. He's latched onto a piece of her soul and he holds it carefully, taking precious heed of his part of her. They feel right together, moulding into each other contentedly and constantly and she wants him every day, all the time—regardless of the consequences. He is a married man. And his wife is her sister.

But there was that era of unrequited love, she remembers. That should count for something, perhaps? She'd been living in a misinformed delusion, maybe, but the realization now…well, that certainly has to count for something! She wants him forever, wants him as hers, wants him wherever she goes. She's an empty shell without him, lost without the misbelieved eternity she's so lovingly christened him.

And then she decides she must see him. Even if it is to see his face, to catch one glimpse of those stoic features that constantly evoke both unwanted and desired emotions in her whenever she sees them. And perhaps it is the buzz in her brain that is insisting that she go see him or the gentle urging of her heart or even the subtle heat surging through her body. Inevitably, she has to see him.

Her hair looks nice—long and an odd orangey-red, pulled into a professional ponytail with a black velvet headband. Her clothes are neat and tidy; the same from the morning but that is of no consequence (perfume is perfection captured; alluring and subtly hygienic). But her face—the tears have crusted into tiny beige flakes under her eyes and her lips feel dry. But this is easily remedied by a splash of water over her features and the use of mascara and blush to resolve the washed-out paleness in her cheeks.

She bats her eyelashes, curling her now glossed lips in a coy half-smile. She looks…dare she say…pretty. Pretty and happy, a combination that seems to be as rare as a blue moon. And most importantly, she looks good enough to see him and spark in him what he reveals in her. Without his wife being there, of course.

Abandoning the bathroom in its current state of disconsolate messiness, she flicks the light switch and makes her way to the door where she slips into her black pea coat and glossy, pointy black pumps, all of which coincide with her black leather gloves and similar black leather designer bag—purely high-fashion, purely class; purely everything she stands for.

The next decision is her motive of transportation—she consults the buzz for this. _Do they live far enough to walk, perhaps? _she muses, silently considering to herself. _Or perhaps I would be most comfortable in a car? _The sun is fading into the sky, dipping down below the skyline of sumptuous apartment buildings and the faint outline of city towers. _I will walk, _she decides, grateful that he lives only a short distance away from her.

Her chin is held high and her smile is perpetual now, rarely finding occasion to slide from her face. The winter air snaps at her skin and renders it red and rosy, but she pays it no attention, finding the coldness almost refreshing. It is like a gentle breeze to her, a makeshift air freshener that coincides with the looseness in her psyche.

In another ten minutes she arrives, her smile never waning and her legs spattered with faint reds between the fishnet patterns. A familiar sense of distant euphoria settles in over her, clouding her head in a protective effervesce.

"Why, hello there, Miss. Blossom!" Phil cries out softly from his spot at the revolving door. She smiles at him perkily, pink lips curled up genuinely. She approaches him with confidence in her stride, a trait previously, in the short span of time of her depression, unheard of.

"Hello, Phil," she greets him back, waving delicately at the chubby doorman. A slight flush appears to tint his cheeks and he smiles toothily back at her, perhaps allowing her contagious, albeit almost false, happiness to overcome his preceding emotion.

"You here to see the Missus and Mister?" he asks her, eyes wide with curiosity. Her smile falters slightly at the mention of 'the Missus' but otherwise beams brightly with the sparkle of an inside joke.

"Yes," she replies. "Can you ring me up? I want to surprise hi—them." She graces him with an emphasized wink and indicative half-smile, silently thanking the buzz for her improvised speech.

He waves his hand as if it's nothing. "Of course, Miss. Blossom. You go on right up," he says, gesturing grandly through the revolving doors. She beams at him one last time before sweeping past him in an artificial sense of royalty (not that she really knows its falseness).

She can feel her heart pounding incessantly in its present euphoric state—and the exciting prospect of seeing him in the glory of his apartment. Even if his wife is there with him—just the sight of him will fulfill her desires enough. Her hand travels subconsciously to her belly but she makes no note of this, and uses it to clutch her bag to her body as the elevator dings to signify her arrival at the penthouse level.

She rings the doorbell to their penthouse and bites her lip excitedly when she hears footsteps hurriedly stomping towards the door.

"What?" Buttercup snaps as she whips the door open. Her eyebrows rise when she sees Blossom standing there, but she is none too pleased. She crosses her arms across her voluptuous chest and leans against the doorway, her own effervesce offering off a sense of refusal.

"Buttercup!" Blossom exclaims, leaning over to Buttercup with her arms stretched out. Buttercup, whose sea foam green eyes have now widened in utter distaste, leans back to decline the hug. Blossom waves this away carelessly and returns her giddy attention to her sister. "Is Brick here?"

Buttercup regards her suspiciously, sculpted black eyebrows furrowed in guarded reservation. But before she can say anything, Blossom, unable to control herself, merrily bursts out the words that cause Buttercup's heart to stop entirely:

"I'm pregnant!"

_Out of control…_

_

* * *

_

_November 14, Present Year_

_Dear Professor,_

_I realize post mail is slow but I've sent letters almost every day for the past couple weeks. Where are you, Professor? Why haven't you been answering my letters? I realize I've been faintly harsh in many of those letters but I don't think that's a reason for you to ignore me. A phone call or even an email would suffice? Where are you?_

_Work is not going so great right now; I'm beginning to grow worried. I've been at that stupid secretarial post for over a year now and maybe they've begun to notice my displeasure at it. I haven't exactly been silent about it. Still, that's no reason to discuss it covertly without me present. It is about me, after all. If they're going to fire me, I wish they would just do it._

_I ran into Blossom at the supermarket yesterday. She was acting incredibly ambiguous. I feel like I don't know anything about her lately. She's so secretive and yet, I'm picking up the happiest vibe from her—and then, there's an under layer of sadness there. I'm not even sure how to describe it. I wish she would talk to me._

_The issue of Boomer and I isn't over yet, Professor and that's why I need you to reply to me. I want you at my wedding. It's approaching quickly, or have you forgotten? No, not forgotten—I bet you've pushed it out of your mind as if to deny that it's ever happening. Well, tough, Professor. It's inevitable. Boomer and I are getting married and I want you there. So I hope you can accept this relationship eventually._

_If you're just being bitter than this is very immature behaviour for an older adult. You're my father, Professor, and I need you to accept me for me. If not, then I'm not sure I can call you that anymore._

_Write back soon._

_Bubbles_

_

* * *

_

She is so _frustrating _sometimes.

He wishes that it would go back to previous times—when she was much more laidback about what he did in his spare time. When their relationship was built solely on love and the mutual desire for a peaceful life. Peace and love…those constant professions are starting to annoy him now. Everything about them just seems to irk him. His hands clench and his knuckles twitch and he wants to punch something, break something—cause even an inanimate object pain.

He loves her, yes, but, as shameful as he is to admit it, he loved her more when she didn't attempt to control him as constantly as she does now. He wants his freedom, wants the ability to do what he wants without rebuking from her. He respects her wishes but, by that fact, shouldn't she respect his? He rubs his forehead with his hand, willing the confused pounding in his head to go away.

He hadn't meant to harm her. His anger got the best of him and he had shoved her—he had hurt her. The guilt has slowly begun to overcome him ever since he had stormed out in irrational fury. He wants to go back and apologize—to kiss her tenderly on her wounds and tell her he does love her and he doesn't want to leave her. But the domineering male pride half in him arises and he angrily shoves his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans and continues his irate march down the sidewalk.

They'd been so cute in high school. He kissed her constantly and they held hands on a regular basis and they were just so damn cute together—cute to the point that his brothers and her sisters would always joke about the feeding-each-other-food and taking-romantic-walks in even the most unromantic of places would cause a series of disgusted vomit sessions. But Boomer had simply laughed at this—what could he say? He was a closet romantic.

But then he had proposed to her and at first it had seemed like perfection. She'd assumed him her soul mate and him the same to her—because all those years together could only mean that they were meant for each other. At first she hadn't minded his pot-smoking habits (in fact, sometimes she didn't hesitate to join him when he brought out a joint). But then she'd gotten hired at Wendell & Burkes, those uptight lawyers whose commercials Boomer had always scoffed at on television.

Her playful façade seemed to dissipate and she became so involved in her work that even her whole comforting hippy routine seemed inane and false. He slipped back into the habit of eating meat and she hadn't noticed—which was almost heart-wrenching because she hated food from animals almost more than anything else in the world, and the fact that she didn't even care that he was betraying her wishes was…well, it tore at his chest in a mental pain.

When she'd suggested they open a New Age shop together, at first he'd been all for it—they would be able to spend time together and she wouldn't be so involved in her work. But then she became controlling in her own sense. She forbade him from blazing and demanded that he stop drinking. Her carefree demeanour was slipping and in its place was a lesser version of Buttercup. He shudders at the very thought of it.

His inner anger grew until it slowly consumed him and everything he did and thought. Her voice became an annoyance and he constantly assumed the worst—she was cheating on him, she was leaving him, she was a damn filthy hypocrite. The latter was the most reasonable of all and it wasn't too difficult to convince himself of it—the whole hippy thing was simply a giant façade. There was nothing else to it.

His fists clench at the thought of it and he shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of her. Perhaps he will apologize for pushing her later (though not for his words to her—he doesn't doubt that maybe, on some level, they are true), but right now he needs that extra push of calm.

He makes his way to the nearest intersection and takes a turn at the alleyway just nearby. The narrow, gravely road is littered with fly-infested garbage cans and moss sprouting up from the most inconvenient of spots. A faint beam of fading sunlight shines through the constricted opening, the only source of a light to an otherwise shadowed area. He steps carefully on the gravel, wincing at each light crunch under his feet.

He could scoff at the predictability of it. It seems so typical, a covert alleyway that shields the dark, sordid types away from the bright lights of city streets and police cars. But it has become almost a sort of home-away-from-home, a place where he can go to gather himself and his selection of things that help him go numb.

"Rudolph?" Boomer calls, swiping away a stray lock of blond hair that has fallen across his pallid, sweaty forehead undesirably. He makes his way hesitantly down the alley, hands shoved anxiously into the deep pockets of his baggy cargo pants.

"Boomer, my boy!" a tall, heavyset man crows heavily as he jumps up from his spot against a dirtied, metal door. Above it is a rusted fire escape that seems threateningly close to crashing down, and surrounding it is a series of tarnished garbage cans and dumpsters.

Boomer engages in a complex handshake with the man, whose thick frame seems to envelop Boomer easily. His skin, a dark cocoa color, seems to complement his head of ebony hair and black attire effortlessly, and his eyes, black as the stocking cap that sits askew on his head, are vaguely dilated and wild.

"What can I do you for?" Rudolph asks, his grin perpetual and untamed. He seems impassive to the cold wind, dressed only in a light track jacket and jeans with his doc martens. He's unquestionably out of it, undoubtedly high.

Boomer sighs melancholically. "My fiancée's being a bitch as usual. Like, I'm starting to get really fuckin' sick and tired of it, Rudolph, y'know? Everything I do is fuckin' wrong, like I'm fuckin' useless or something. It's like, sorry that you're so big of a fuckin' bitch that I wanna escape from all your goddamn complaining once in a fuckin' while."

Rudolph listens to his tirade, nodding appropriately and sympathetically. Once Boomer draws breath, he strokes his stubbly chin with a thick finger, contemplative.

"What you need, my boy, is somethin' _stronger_ than what I've been givin' you," he begins, a devious smirk beginning to form on his lips.

Boomer furrows his brow confusedly. "You got stronger weed than what you've been giving me? 'Cause, 'Dolph, I gotta tell you, that's some powerful shit."

Rudolph laughs, a surprisingly high noise for someone so tall and broad. He pats Boomer on the shoulder, grinning in response. "Baby, come on, trust your pal Rudolph. Would I ever let you down?" He lets go of Boomer's shoulder to extract something from his back pocket.

"I'll give you this whole thing for a good price. Street value," he adds, opening his palm to reveal a small packet centred on his skin. "Couple twenties and we're good to go, eh? Strong shit too, lemme tell you, Boomer."

A temporary shock settles in over Boomer, who stares both covetously and apprehensively at the packet in his dealer's hand. The white powder unnerves him, its disreputable notion widening over his thoughts. This is something beyond his consideration, a road he can't go back on.

A world that will slowly spiral out of control…

And the instance that Rudolph says it will better his mindset Boomer exchanges the money in his pocket for the pack of white powder. He greedily drifts away, anxious to begin the spiral.

_A slow descent…_

_

* * *

_An unlit cigarette dangles precariously from the corner of his mouth, the single fixture upon a mangled expression of anger and frustration. His previous feeling of euphoria has long since dissipated, replaced by a mess of negativity. He curses loudly, spewing the cigarette from his lips.

"_Butch, I'm afraid your work has been increasingly lacklustre the past few months," his boss said seriously, leaning back in his enormous leather office chair and sighing loudly. "It's become a real detriment to the ultimate goal of Defusion."_

_Butch sat in the chair directly across from his boss' vast, mahogany desk, his mouth slightly agape. The skyline view from the substantial office space, which had originally been calming to his rattled nerves, now seemed foreign and menacing. He gripped the arms of the wooden chair tightly, ignoring the increasing pallor in his knuckles._

"_I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize I was doing such a poor job in regards to the company…"_

_His boss sighed again, touching the tips of his fingers together. He had the look of somebody who was utterly bored by the proceedings, but was trying to mask it with an expression of sympathy. "Ronalds, you were a fine addition when I hired you initially, but it seems everything has since gone downhill. I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go…"_

_Butch stood up suddenly, his body rigid and his mouth set in a tight line. "I see. Well, I'm sorry you feel this way." He hurried away from the chair and the desk, desperate to get as far away from his boss and his goddamn company as quickly as he could._

"_Helen will leave you with notice for your final pay check and paperwork!" his boss called after him._

_Butch pretended not to hear him._

He picks up the cigarette off the checked, black and white tiles in his small, cramped kitchen, chucking it in the garbage can. He angrily extracts another one from the pack of Marlboros in the back pocket of his pants, tucking it roughly between his rough, chapped lips.

He'd been fired. He can almost laugh at the irony. Brick is cheating on his wife, and is a top inclusion to Vito Enterprises. Boomer treats his fiancée like dirt, and yet it is she who'd been fired from her job. Butch shakes his head and lights the fag with the flame of his Las Vegas lighter.

His condo is in desperate need of cleaning, he notices, taking a puff of the cigarette. It's not as dirty as he'd normally expect it to be, but the checked floor is noticeably highlighted with whispers of dirt and grime, and the sink has become alarmingly filled with soiled dishes. He should clean, but a sudden wash of hunger overpowers him.

Butch extracts a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon from his unusually full refrigerator, the result of his early morning shopping trip with Bubbles. He'd had the day off, like most of the company (as it was Sunday), receiving the phone call from his boss' assistant, Helen, at around noon for an emergency drop-by by the office. He grips the food in his hands, angry with himself for not seeing it.

He slams a pan down on the oven with intended force, vehemently turning the dial up to medium heat. Ultimately it just seems a little unfair. He has done nothing wrong, at least compared to the misdoings of his brothers. Sure, his motives to going to Brick's house had not been entirely selfless, but at least he can attest to _not _cheating on his significant other. Brick's punishment? A recent promotion up the corporate ladder.

Furiously inhaling another puff his cigarette, Butch taps out the ashes onto his already dirtied floor. Whatever. A few more scattered ashes will not be a further detriment to the ultimate cleanliness of his kitchen floor. _Detriment. _What the hell did his boss even mean by that? Butch had been so sure of his place in the company, so sure of his work ability. _"We're going to have to let you go…" _He isn't even sure what he's done wrong.

The bacon sizzles as he drops it onto the melted butter in the pan. The smell wafts through his nose, a single pleasure in an otherwise sordid reality. The day had started out so pleasantly…the trip to Brick's, while it had not ended as he'd wanted, had not been a total failure, and he'd managed to finally go grocery shopping after months of takeout. He assumes the downfall had begun during his encounter with Boomer. Perhaps he shouldn't have punched his brother in face.

No, Butch decides, flexing his fist. The asshole had definitely deserved it. Poor, sweet Bubbles having to deal with that bullshit. Butch angrily tosses a cracked eggshell into the garbage can and misses. He curses as he watches it shatter into further pieces on the floor. This is his luck, a _detriment _to his well-being. God, he hates that word.

"Fuck!" he roars, withdrawing his hand instinctively from the burning stove. He'd gone to shake the pan, accidentally touching the raised gas burner with the side of his hand. The pain aches frantically as he rushes to shield it with a curtain of cold water. Cursing himself, he minces the cigarette, which he'd managed to extract from his mouth before he'd sworn, in the ashtray by the sink. He goes to take a new one from the pack, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in his hand.

The pan is half off the burner, and he fixes it with his good hand. The aroma from his supper is delectable, and he nearly forgets the pain sending continued shocks up his arm. He remembers the reason why he had ordered all that takeout previously—at least it was less painful.

Butch extracts his lighter once again, fumbling to light his third cigarette of the hour, when the doorbell rings. Cursing for the nth time, Butch unthinkingly drops his lit lighter on the gas burner, thundering over to the door with thick, angry steps.

The doorbell rings again.

"Calm your ass, I'm comin'!" he shouts, whipping the front door open. He finds a tall ginger man standing on his doorstep, hand poised to ring the doorbell again. The man smiles instantly when he sees Butch, dropping his hand by his waist. The smile falters at the look on Butch's face.

"Good evening!" the man exclaims. "I'm here to offer—"

"Not interested," Butch growls shortly, slamming the door in the man's face. He can hear the protests on the other side of the door, but pays them no heed; instead turning around to finish his supper.

He sniffs the air. A faint burning smell floats through the air. The smoke alarm goes off.

"What the…" He runs into the kitchen as quickly as he can, fearing the worst. His skin feels tight against his bones, his heart hammering against his rib cage. He can feel his lungs constrict as he turns the corner.

Fire.

_How could this happen?_

_

* * *

_

_Butch tackled me to the ground, fists poised above my face. I laughed and shoved him off of me, rolling around so that I was in prime position to punch him. But Butch had always been stronger, and soon he was quickly overpowering me like it was nothing, and there was no doubt that it was. He was the brawn of the three of us. There was no reservation in anyone's mind that he could kick both Boomer's ass and mine if he was given the opportunity._

"_Boys," someone scoffed above me. I looked up and saw Buttercup standing above us, her expression playfully stern. I knew it was false. Buttercup was just as tough as Butch, if not tougher. She was a fighter, that girl. The brawn of her sisters as Butch was to us._

_We were all eighteen and seventeen respectively (my brothers and then the girls), recent graduates of high school. College was looming on the horizon; state for Boomer, Harvard, shockingly, for Bubbles, and UCSC for the rest of us. I was surprised Blossom was settling for UCSC when she had her choice of Ivy Leagues practically laid out for her. But then it dawned on me that Butch's first choice was UCSC, and it was unquestionable that wherever Butch went, Blossom did._

_A familiar bitterness creeped into my thoughts, which I shooed away instantly. It was not unheard of in my frame of mind, even two years after they initially started dating. I knew my feelings for her were not the same as they had been previously; nor did I ever believe they would be again—even if she and Butch did break up (two years I would have expected it to be soon—nowadays I didn't even bother to assume)._

_I'd dated a plethora of girls in her stead, but had never been able to settle for one. It just seemed impossible for me to forget my unrequited love for the girl who I'd always assumed would eventually love me back. I never assumed that she would ever go after my brother, particularly not Butch. Never mind that he was a dirt ball; he was just too rough for someone so delicate._

_But I digress._

_We were all gathered in the backyard of our house, an intimate sort of send-off for the two blonds of the group. It was a shame that they would be apart—three years was an achievement for a couple so young. We'd always assumed that of the six of us, they were the doubtless ones to end up together, and last together as well. I had no uncertainties of their relationship. Boomer and Bubbles would always find a way to make it work._

_I watched as Butch made his way over to Blossom and attacked her with a barrage of tickles. She giggled into his arms, squeezing her body together to fend off his hands. "Butch, stop!" she pleaded, unable to control her laughter. I clenched my fists unknowingly, willing myself to look away. It was hard—I felt a rush of anger flood through my body. Why had she chosen him, even all those years ago, and not me?_

_Buttercup came over and sat down next to me. "What's up, Brick? You look pissed."_

_I looked at her, grateful for an excuse to tear my eyes away from the now-kissing couple. Too fucking cute for words. Whatever._

_Buttercup and I had barely talked in the past two years after she'd let slip a minute tidbit at Mitch's party, a drunken "I love you". No big deal. I'd long since convinced myself that it was a drunken faux pas—she had moved on easily enough, boyfriend to boyfriend, to let persuade me that her words had been nothing more than a mistake. _

"_Nah," I said, smiling at her. "This ain't the time to be mad at anything." _

_She nodded thoughtfully, settling in back against the wooden bench we were sitting on. "Ain't that right."_

_I noticed her eyes stray towards the couple I'd been watching only moments before. Her lips tightened into a thin line and she looked away, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. I leaned over, curious at her sudden sullenness. It was no secret that Buttercup had had a crush on Butch. It was just another fact that made me so angry with him._

"_What's wrong?" I asked her, touching her shoulder. I rested it there momentarily, watching her carefully. She looked up at me and smiled in a similar manner that I had towards her only moments ago._

_"Nothing. This ain't the time," she replied teasingly, shoving me gently with her shoulder. I laughed, a nouveau rush of emotion settling in over me. Whatever it was, it was definitely better than that embittered resentment that had taken over before._

_x x x_

"_Happy birthday, dear BrickBoomerButch!" I laughed at everyone's attempt to say all of our names in the one line of the Happy Birthday song. _

_It was our twentieth birthday, the summer before we began our third year of university. Boomer and Bubbles had flown out to California to celebrate, their relationship only stronger than it had been years before. I'd always known everything would continue to be perfect between them. _

_Butch grabbed Blossom and pulled her into a kiss, eliciting 'woos' and various other catcalls from the crowd of thirty or so of our friends. Boomer did the same for Bubbles, and I pulled my girlfriend, Princess, into a similar kiss. Buttercup laughed from the edge of the crowd, holding onto her boyfriend Mitch's hand, as my brothers and I displayed a rather revealing sort of public display of affection. _

_I released Princess at the same moment that my brothers did, instigating an immediate rush towards the booze. Within minutes the room was alight with soon-to-be drunken laughter and excitement. I poured a drink for Princess and lined up at the counter with my brothers and a row of shots. _

"_Whoever can do the most shots in under thirty seconds gets the birthday surprise," Buttercup was saying, her eyes twinkling. There were five shots in front of each of us, and a person to refill them on each side. I grasped onto my first shot glass, empowered to win the race. _

_I won. _

_The stripper's tits were huge._

_She exploded from the fake birthday cake (I should have known) and was dancing to a seductive song that someone had plugged into the stereo. She stripped off her bra and slid over my legs, running her hands down my chest while everyone catcalled and cheered. She had a cascading mane of ebony hair and verdant eyes lined thickly in black makeup. In a way, she kind of looked like Buttercup… I shook my head, trying to enjoy the moment that everyone had so _graciously _bestowed on me. I snickered at the dejected looks on my brothers' faces._

_Then I began to wonder what if would have been like to have Buttercup riding over my crotch in that lacy little g-string._

_x x x_

_We were having Christmas at the Utoniums' that year, as we had done the first semester of college. It would my brothers and I and our mother, Dr. Ronalds, with Professor Utonium and Blossom, Buttercup, and Bubbles. The tradition had not wavered in the fifteen years that we'd known each other; we merely alternated homes every year._

"_Bubbles, how is Harvard?" the Professor asked on Christmas Eve, spooning a heap of mashed potatoes onto his plate and passing the bowl over to Butch. I watched as Bubbles swallowed down her petite helping of organic potatoes before responding._

"_It's okay, Professor," she replied stiffly. "I'm not sure I want to be a lawyer though…"_

_Professor Utonium smiled at her sympathetically, as though what she was saying was utterly inane. "But you're doing wonderfully, my dear. I'm sure your sisters wish they had the same prowess as you. Well, perhaps not Blossom…" He looked indicatively at Buttercup, who swallowed a giant chunk of turkey and ignored him._

_I studied her. Our relationship had become relatively strained over the years. We fluctuated dangerously between close friends and barely-speaking acquaintances, a place that I struggled not to let us reach. I hadn't forgotten her drunken slip-up all those years ago, and occasionally a nagging thought would reach me: what if she'd meant what she said?_

_I supposed it didn't matter now. We were long past that point in our lives, having, somewhat, moved past our respective unrequited love stages and onto other conquests. But I'd never quite managed to find a girl who I'd felt the same about as Blossom, and Buttercup seemed the same way about Butch. I wondered if she'd ever given thought to her words from the party._

_I cornered her after dinner as she was on her way to her room. Her brow furrowed in confusion when she saw me, and I felt an odd rush of apprehension flow swiftly through my blood. _

"_What's up, Brick?" she asked, running her fingers through her long hair. _

"_I…" I wasn't even sure what I wanted to say. "Look, I've just been thinking lately…"_

_Her eyebrows rose inquisitively. I hoped it was a good sign._

"_I've just been thinking about what you said to me at Mitch's party all those years ago," I finished, quite lamely._

_She froze, hand stilled in her ebony mane. Her cheeks flushed pink and her light green eyes were suddenly cast downwards. "Sorry about that. I…didn't mean it."_

_I furrowed my brow nervously, wondering why she was saying that. "Are you sure? Because…I dunno…it was just making me think…I wanted to see…if you wanted to give it a shot."_

_Her gaze shot up instantly, fixated hesitantly on mine. She was a good couple inches shorter than me, a fact that I appreciated. She'd matured the most out of her sisters, I realized. Her legs were long and lithe, supermodel-like, and her curvaceous body was too enticing for words. Her hair was long and sleek, her assets gracious. She was a regular heartbreaker._

"_You…want to give it a shot?" she asked, breathless. "Brick I…"_

_I grew flustered. "Look, if you don't, it's okay, I just thought I would ask…"_

_I didn't get a chance to finish when she wrapped her arms around me and tackled me against the wall in a passionate kiss. Her lips moulded into mine as if they were always meant to, and her skin was warm to my touch. I cupped her face and trailed a hand down to the small of her back, where it rested against her high-waisted skirt. She pressed her chest against mine while she entwined her fingers through my hair and curled her other hand behind my neck._

_Why hadn't I tried this earlier?_

_

* * *

_

Bubbles sits down on the couch gently, resting an icepack wrapped in a dishtowel to the back of her head. She bites her lip anxiously, crossing her legs Indian-style on the cushions. Her head throbs tightly as though her skull has constricted forcefully against her brain. A similar feeling erupts in the tightness of her chest.

He'd…pushed her. Of all things Boomer has ever done, Bubbles had never expected him to harm her. His anger frightened her. It'd been volcanic. She has never seen such a livid red befall on anyone's face before, let alone her own lover's.

She feels tears well up in her eyes, curling down her cheeks in warm streaks. An unnatural emptiness has overwhelmed her core, enveloping her in an arbitrary coldness. She uncrosses her legs and lies down against the pillows of her couch, resting her head against the sturdy armrest. The tears are falling steadily now, dripping down her cheeks and onto the couch.

He'd given her good reason to be mad at him—he broke his promise to her. She hadn't meant to give him the insinuation that she is no longer loyal to him. It's indubitable that she will forever remain loyal to him, even if he had punctured through her heart with such ferocity.

Suddenly the phone rings, and Bubbles reluctantly lifts herself off the couch to get it. Her face brightens—perhaps it is Boomer calling to apologize. Ice pack still pressed against her head, she bounds over to the phone, hoping that her fiancé is on the other end. Lifting it to her ear, Bubbles speaks:

"Hello?"

"_Bubbles?"_

Her broken heart collapses. It's Buttercup, though sounding quite irate.

"Hi, Buttercup," Bubbles says, sighing into the phone. She settles into the armchair stationed by the table on which the phone rests, pressing the ice pack to the bump on her head with unnecessary force. She winces at the pain, withdrawing her strength.

"_Has Blossom come to see you?" _Buttercup asks frantically. Bubbles furrows her brow.

"No, she hasn't," Bubbles replies. She bites her lip. "Why, was she supposed to?"

Buttercup hisses into the phone. Bubbles frowns.

"_I don't know, _Bubbles," Buttercup says acerbically, her voice sharp and scathing, "_I don't what the _fuck's _going on with anything."_

"Well, you don't have to curse," Bubbles says, wincing at an abrupt, sharp burst of pain that encases her head. "It's not my fault."

"_I never said it was your fault!" _Buttercup explodes. She sounds distraught, a rare tone for the regularly calm and collected Buttercup. Bubbles bites her lip to refrain from yelling back, knowing that regardless of her own sentiments at the moment, if Buttercup is this frantic, there must be something wrong.

"Buttercup, please stop yelling at me," Bubbles answers softly, slinking down in the chair. She glances down at her feet, suddenly wondering why she wanders outdoors without shoes. She feels an inexplicable urge to scream and cry and throw things at the ugly, peeling walls that Boomer has long since promised to fix up.

Boomer never intended to fix anything, she realizes, new tears leaking down her face. She wipes them away hurriedly, returning back to her conversation with Buttercup. If she focuses on Buttercup, even momentarily, perhaps her strained, painful emotions will no longer be as overwhelming.

"What's wrong? You have to tell me."

Buttercup groans into the phone, a sad, frantic noise. "_I…I…Blossom stopped by my apartment today."_

Bubbles nods, despite the fact that Buttercup cannot see her. "What did she say?"

There is a pause. Then—

"_Blossom's pregnant. And I think Brick is involved somehow."_

And suddenly the hole in her heart explodes and she succumbs to the pain and bursts into tears, knowing that the every flawless and blissful utopian world she and her sisters had each painstakingly struggled to build over the years is burning to the ground.

_It's over…_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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**Polska – And that's it! After two freakin' years I am finally finished this goddamn chapter. Want to know something even stupider? It took me four hours to finish the rest of this chapter after Boomer's little drug scene. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. Anyways I'm really sorry about the wait; I hope people still review. It's the longest chapter and I think I wrote it very well, and brought in even **_**more **_**plot holes! :D I remember someone saying they wanted more insight to the Buttercup/Brick relationship, so I added that in this chapter. I hope it was what you wanted! As well as the Boomer part…I can't wait to develop his cocaine subplot. Beware; the themes are starting to get much darker. I expect citrus-y themes to evolve sometime in the near future as well. Please review! Hopefully I can get the new chapter up soon. I've already started writing it. (:**

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_**NEXT CH**__**APTER  
**_CONTROL


	6. Chapter VI: Control

**PARANOIA**

**Polska – Hey there! I'm back and better than ever. I know three months since my last update certainly does not technically constitute "better than ever", but I mean compared to the previous length between updates…anyways here is chapter six of Paranoia. Enjoy! And please review…this story is my baby, and it breaks my heart to see how many alerts and favourites it has but not as many reviews :(. Thank you! Also I do want to say a huge thank you to all of my reviewers. I know I have lost a lot of you due to the large spans of time between updates, but I'm thankful for you anyways because your reviews keep me inspired when I can't write the next part. So, thank you very much!**

_While the blissful delusion soon begins to crumble away and showcase its true melancholic nature, its previously attainable world will spiral desperately out of control._

* * *

**CONTROL**

_n. the act or power of controlling; restraint_

**CHAPTER SIX**

"_Ripping through like a missile,  
__Ripping through my heart, rob me of this love,  
__Raise your weapon, raise your weapon…and it's over,  
__How does it feel now to watch it burn, burn, burn…"_

_- Raise Your Weapon, Deadmau5_

Control: a wildly spinning circuit of restraint, buried solidly and careful not to slip from the erratic path. It is wild and unpredictable. It is difficult to maintain. The world would fall in an instance.

It is a gain and loss of power. There is no predicting its ultimate path. A single incidence could be defeat, and the grasp on it would unravel and fall. It is inescapable, perpetual self-deprecation.

Control: a futile struggle to regain a sense of normalized recognition. It becomes a battle of mountainous happiness and darkness, a dangerous precipice. It is unknowing.

It is everything and nothing. It is a melee of personal destruction, or a reaping of self-contentment. There is no predicting the future, only reminder and recollection. And when there is no control, what will be left?

* * *

"_P…P…Pregnant?" Buttercup sputtered out, holding onto one side of the doorframe for support. Her legs felt weak, nearly__ buckling at the knees, as she stared at her sister in such shock that numbed her body from the neck down. She was in disbelief, complete disbelief. _

_Blossom grinned merrily. There was something strange about her actions, Buttercup noticed. The Blossom she knew would not have had such a blissful smile on her face at the announcement of her own pregnancy at the single stage. Then again, Blossom as a single mother was as aberrant as she could get. Buttercup groaned inwardly; it seemed that she did not know her sister at all anymore._

"_You're…pregnant…" Buttercup whispered. She needed to breathe, needed to think. Blossom had asked for Brick…why had she done that? Perhaps she had merely wanted to announce the details of her pregnancy with the pair of them present…Buttercup refused to entertain any other notions, at least not with Blossom at the door in such a strange state._

_Buttercup studied her sister closely. She was beautiful, as always, dressed fashionably in all black, presumably her work clothes. Her hair, shiny and red, was pulled back. It was her face that caught Buttercup vaguely off guard. Beneath the light splash of makeup it looked almost haggard…Blossom was rarely so unkempt. But it was her eyes, those extraordinary pink orbs…they were glassy, glazed over…_

_Was Blossom…was she _on _something?_

_Uncharacteristically, Buttercup leaned over to place a well-manicured hand on Blossom's outstretched arm. She could feel her sister shaking beneath her grasp, though it was such a light shake that Buttercup almost did not detect it. She licked her lips nervously, feeling a cold shiver rush through her body._

"_Are you…are you okay, Blossom?" Buttercup asked, ignoring the harried race of the butterflies in her stomach and the erratic beating of her heart._

_Blossom looked at her oddly, though her smile never waned. "Buttery-cup," she sang out delicately, "you are such a worrywart. I'm having a baby, my lovely. You're going to be an auntie. We're all going to take such wonderful care of this beautiful thing." She made a show of curling her arms around her stomach and cradling it as though she were holding a baby._

_Buttercup bit her lip anxiously. Something was not right. Blossom peered over her sister's shoulder._

_"You didn't answer my earlier question," she trilled. "Is Brick home?"_

"_No, he's not…" Buttercup replied, frowning. The nagging suspicion in the pit of her stomach was back. Why was Blossom so intent on talking to Brick?_

_Blossom shrugged, though her smile weakened slightly. "I see. Well, I suppose I'll be back later then!" She leaned in to peck Buttercup on the cheek. "Goodbye, darling. I'll see you soon!"_

_Buttercup grasped desperately at the pocket of her black velvet lounge pants, extracting a pack of Marlboro Reds and a silver lighter. She desperately lit a smoke, watching anxiously as her sister's bright red hair disappeared around the corner from sight. Her heart pounded at an abnormal beat that she was sure it was going to burst…_

_She needed to call Bubbles._

Buttercup glances at the ugly oak clock set above the mantled fireplace. It's almost midnight. Brick had come home an hour ago, hair dishevelled and clothes bedraggled, and Buttercup had assumed the worst. She had not vocalized it, merely remaining stiff as he kissed her good night and went to bed. She then sat down on the corduroy couch, fingers tapping non-stop on her knees, contemplation overtaking her.

Once or twice she gets up and wanders the apartment, smoking a cigarette or two, checking in on Brick to make sure he is still in their room, splashing water on her face and cursing herself for being so paranoid, and even dialling Blossom's number a few times. She does not manage it, hanging up before she can even finish the full number.

But Blossom is _pregnant…_Buttercup has always expected if anything, if would be Bubbles being pregnant first. She and Boomer are so solid, having been together for nearly ten years…even herself and Brick; she assumed they would have some sort of family initialized before Blossom. Buttercup disregards the fact that she doesn't even like children.

There is also the distressing itch in her stomach and heart and brain and blood of Blossom's insistence for Brick. Where _had _Brick been all day? Buttercup burrows her face in her palms, fighting back the sure-fire tears guaranteed to spill. She is at a loss. Her world is crumbling; her grasp on its control is slipping.

Fearful of her heart bursting into hysterics, Buttercup gets up from the couch and makes her way to the bedroom. She slips off her black silk bathrobe on the way, running her hands down the obverse of her black lingerie set. Lace. Brick's favourite. Her fingers tremble, her eyelids flitter, and she licks her lips nervously as she opens the door to their room.

Her husband is sprawled beneath the Egyptian thread-count sheets, chest heaving up and down as he sleeps. She climbs onto the bed and curls in next to him. He wakes with a jolt, eyes half-closed with sleep.

"Buttercup…" he mumbles, taking weary note of what she is wearing, "what are you doing?"

She presses her lips to his to silence him, hands curling down his bare, muscled chest and to his pinstriped pyjama pants. A beam of moonlight shines visibly through the pane of glass shielding the floor to wall window directly opposite the bed, its glow carefully illuminating the bedspread wrapped around their bodies.

At first he does not reciprocate. She presses further into him, kissing him with forced passion. His hands roam her scantily clad body initially, while hers explore further downward, and a moan escapes from his lips and then from hers, but he can't go on and he pulls away.

"This isn't the time," he murmurs. He pulls his face away, and she tries to pull it back to hers. He is adamant. A burst of frustration surges inexplicably through her body.

"Why?" she explodes, feeling foolish and cold in nothing but a skimpy bra and matching underwear. She has never felt such a lack of tenderness between them before. The distance between them now sends cold emptiness into her heart.

He rolls over and she is forced to get off the bed. "I'm not in the mood," he replies without looking at her.

Buttercup clenches her fists. "Why not? You're never in the fucking mood," she says dangerously.

He does not have the audacity to look her in the eye. "Go to bed, Buttercup." It signals the end of the conversation, and he even gets out of bed, taking his pillow with him and makes his way to the living room. Buttercup collapses on the bed, a nouveau wave of shock settling in over her.

_Does he not love me anymore?_

* * *

_November 20, Present Year_

_Dear Professor,_

_I have sent letters at least twice a week for the past month and have received no response from you yet, as well as multitude emails that I _know _should be much easier for you to respond to. I realize you must be exceedingly busy if you do not reply to my messages, but I wish you would take at least a few minutes to spare to relieve my worries. I have half a mind to drive up there and see if you are okay, but unfortunately I am much too busy._

_It's a bit shocking, actually, considering I was demoted the other day. I recall the scene: Wendell called me into his office and Burkes was there (surprising, as Burkes is rarely ever in the building), and I figured it must be bad if they were both together. I admit, the thought crossed that I was receiving a promotion to partner, but then I realized that I had not exactly been acting as the model employee lately._

_Anyways, Wendell looked at me gravely and told me to sit down, which I did. Then he says, "Miss. Utonium, it has come to our attention that you have been fairly unhappy with the employed position you are in." I did not deny it, so he continued, "Mr. Burkes and I have discussed it."_

_This was the point at which I thought, 'okay, my life is at a turning point. They will send me to start over, or I will move forward on this path that I would not have initially chosen for myself.' So I maintained eye contact with the pair of them, waiting patiently as they delivered the final verdict._

"_We have reviewed your employee status and have decided that you are a formidable worker, so we will not terminate your position," Burkes said. At this point, an alternate feeling crossed me. I could not tell if I was displeased or relieved. "However, we will unfortunately have to demote you down to an assistant secretarial position. This is ultimately a workplace, and your behaviour is detrimental to the sanctity of the work environment."_

_They _would_ insist that I was a detriment, they really would. I thanked them and left the office, feeling a bundle of emotions all at once. Is this what I really wanted? Everytime I took a step forward it appeared that I would have to take two steps back. I was this much closer to having to abandon the lawyer dream and start from scratch. Perhaps a New Age type setting. _

_Speaking of jobs, Boomer got a new job at a loading deck, Professor. It's a supermarket, and it pays very well for a labour position. If you were worried that he would not be able to supply for our eventual family and me, you were wrong. Boomer is destined for great things, I just know it—I just have to help him utilize what he has already done._

_Please reply soon, Professor. The wedding is soon and you have yet to RSVP. Also, I'm getting worried that something happened. I need to talk to my father again._

_Love, _

_Bubbles._

* * *

_The walk home seemed to stretch endlessly. He ached to get home and lock himself in the basement, away from Bubbles, and smoke and drink and get high and drunk and listen to Rudolph, who told him he could _easily _take his troubles away. The thought appealed more to Boomer than the packet in his pocket appalled him, and that, it turned out, would be the turning point._

_His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him from a contemplative stupor. Boomer pulled out the phone angrily. Bubbles. He shoved the phone back into his jeans pocket after pressing ignore, feeling a familiar sense of rage creep up his spine. He needed to relax; he needed a relaxant. How far away from home was he?_

_It was late by the time he got home. The sun had long since disappeared behind the city skyline and the moon had taken its place, settled in comfortably amid the silver stars spattered against the black canvas. It was a beautiful night, which he acknowledged with a deep intake of breath and moment of arbitrary bliss. If only every night was like this one._

_Boomer cautiously walked up the long mossy path to the front door of his and Bubbles' house. It was darkened and quiet, which disconcerted him. Who knew what kind of wrath he would incur once he opened that door? Still, he could feel that packet pressed achingly in his pocket. Whatever was on the other side of the door would have to be worth it._

_He turned the lock and pushed open the door. Gazing inside vigilantly, Boomer painstakingly took a step indoors. It was completely dark. Perhaps Bubbles was not awake waiting for him after all…_

"_Boomer! Are you fucking serious?"_

_Of course, he should have known it was too good to be true. He spun around on his heel, anger rushing like rapids through his body. She was standing directly in front of him, clad in a loose, oversize white Beatles shirt and nothing else. Her eyes were steeled with silent rage, and her arms were crossed against her chest._

_But Boomer was in no mood to put up with her tonight. Instead he shoved past her, ignoring her vociferous cries as he thundered towards the basement door. Yanking it open, he began his descent down the steps, slamming and locking the door behind him. He was going to pay for this in the morning, but he didn't really care._

_The basement was small, but furnished, and that's what was important. He had sort of deemed it a hangout and haven for himself and his brothers. There was a large flat screen television against one wall, opposite an enormous black leather couch that had seen better days. There was a bar and stack of video games three piles high, as well as a glass coffee table decorated with a collection of empty beer bottles. It was every man's dream hideout._

_He grabbed a beer from the mini fridge and thudded over to the couch, where he collapsed on it languidly. He finally felt peaceful, filled with adoration for the complete silence and coolness he was met with in the basement. This was a place for him and him alone. _

_He reached beneath the couch to grab a hollowed out book that looked entirely out of place. It had been a Christmas present from Butch nearly six years ago when they all still decided to smoke weed together; before Butch had decided to go all self-righteous on his ass, and Brick became cockier than usual. _

_Opening it, Boomer extracted a small bag of a verdant plant and a sheet of rolling paper settled in behind a marble pipe. He set the paper on the table and sprinkled in a few leaves, rolling the joint to miniature perfection. Setting it aside, he made his way to the tiny bathroom built directly beside the bar (for easy access). It was dirty, adorned with scattered hairs and stains on the appliances (he made a note to clean the place eventually). _

_He came back with a razor blade and mirror in hand, extracted from the make-up mirror that had been a gift to his fiancée from Buttercup. Bubbles had tossed it aside carelessly, of course, deeming it superficial to even think about using make-up. But then, her loss was his gain. He set the mirror and razor blade on the table next to his rolled joint._

_Then came the piece de resistance; he reached into his pocket and removed the small packet Rudolph had given him earlier. He dared not to use the entire thing, preferring only to spill a small section onto his newfound mirror. He took the razor blade and began cutting the white powder into three neat strips, organized carefully one next to the other. _

_Tempting, that was what it was. He lit the joint first with a Las Vegas lighter given to him, again, by Butch, and took a deep inhale. The burn in his throat was comforting, and before he could change his mind, he leaned over, pressed his nose to the end of the first strip and snorted the length of white powder. _

"Co-co-cocaine," Boomer murmurs to himself, taking an enormous swig of beer. Heineken. His best friend, he decides. He glances at the clock above the bar, blinking rapidly to see past the blurry contours of air. Is it…after midnight?

He feels close to death. He leans over and snorts another line of cocaine, his nose twitching from the burn. The beer bottles tips from his hand and lands with a muffled thump on the carpet, where it leaks the brownish liquid from its tip. It joins a random collection of empty bottles scattered on the table in front of him, or on the floor beside him.

"Aww, fuck that!" he yells, throwing a pillow at the television screen, where a girl is kissing another girl. "This porno is fucking lame! I can eat that bitch out way harder than that skank!"

His heart thumps at an erratic beat. His mind is a mess of jumbled colours and words and images. Rudolph was right; this shit was fucking _powerful._ He feels so out of himself, so replaced by unnatural bliss and vigour. He can see the undercurrents of life, stretched out in front of him; both blurred and sharpened into confusing detail. He can't get enough of it.

He dumps the rest of the packet out onto the mirror and separates it into two lines, then leans over to snort them all in series. It isn't much and he wants more. He inhales deeply, craving the sharp burn that tugs at his nostrils. When he sits upright, his nose is red and his eyes are wider than normal. He shudders from the dramatic increase of coke in his system. It is a mix of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck Bubbles, man," he says, watching the TV. "Fuck all this shit."

At one point he wraps his fingers around his dick, and

Then he drinks another beer, and

Pounds his fists into the couch, shivering in pain, and

Collapses on the floor, nose burning, throat aching, brain about to burst, and

Calms down and breathes, and then lays down on the couch and falls asleep.

_Completely out of control…_

* * *

"_Shit! Shit, shit, SHIT!" Butch yelled, locked in place from the sight of the flames engulfing his oven. It was spreading quickly; he needed to move. But the sight of the flames licking its destructive power over his kitchen yielded him temporarily paralysed. He couldn't move and he was finding it hard to breathe._

_The smoke alarm was screaming danger. He finally willed himself to move and collapsed to the floor, away from the smoke and the flames. He crawled towards the door, his pulse rapid and his breathing strained. How could this have happened? He had gone for a moment to check who was at the door…and his kitchen had set on fire. No, no, no, no._

_Butch coughed, but did not look back. He couldn't bear to see his home in the state it was in. He just needed to get out and hope that it could be salvaged. He managed to make it to the hallway, where the smoke was slowly beginning to drift. Standing up, Butch ran towards the front door and thrust it open, escaping into the darkening evening._

"_Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groaned, fumbling with his cell phone. 9-1-1. He looked around. Why hadn't anyone else called the fire department yet? Why was he forced to completely deal with this shit by himself? Where was that bullshit door-to-door ginger salesman?_

"_911, what is your emergency?" the woman on the other end of the phone asked coolly._

"_My…my…house is on fire," Butch coughed out, still refusing to look at the flames he was sure by now were engulfing his home entirely._

_The trucks were there within minutes. Butch collapsed onto the ground across the street, shell-shocked into his position leaning against a neighbour's tree. By then the neighbours had gathered around, watching in sickened awe at the flames licking at what was now the ruins of his house. This was it. Now he would have nothing left._

_They didn't know him. What were they doing attempting to comfort him? He could feel someone's hand brush through his hair, and a few pat him on the back softly. They were trying to encourage him, but how could he possibly be encouraged? He was alone and his house had just burned to the ground. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and yanked out his pack of cigarettes. In a fit of fury, he threw the pack as far as he could, watching as it bounced against the tarred street and onto a gutter. _

_Butch buried his face into his knees. Fuck this shit. There was nothing left for him here. He'd lost his job and now he'd lost his home. He was broke, alone, and homeless. He needed to leave. Now._

"_It'll be okay, son."_

"_They'll help you find a new place to live."_

"_You should get some rest."_

_But instead he stood up and burst through the small crowd gathered around him. He didn't want or need their attempts at comfort. There wasn't anything anybody could say to reassure him at this point. He was really and truly _fucked.

"Ain't that fucked up?" Butch says to the bartender, downing the shot of vodka that has been placed in front of him. "Same day I get fired, my house burns down. Tell me that ain't fucked up." His words are slurred.

"That's fucked up," the bartender agrees. He glances worriedly at Butch, who slaps down another bill and beckons for another vodka shot. Having no choice to oblige, he fills another petite glass to the brim with clear liquid and slides it over to the intoxicated Butch.

He is sitting in a dank, musty bar settled on the outskirts of his neighbourhood (though he's not really sure that he can cal it _his _anymore, considering he does not technically live there anymore). It's quiet, catering to only a few men sitting and drinking, and a few playing pool or darts. He is the only one at the bar, and he is the only one alone.

"Like, where am I supposed to go live, you know?" Butch continues, tapping his fingers anxiously against the shot glass. "My fuck of a brother, Brick, wouldn't let me shit near his place, let alone live there. And I ain't staying nowhere near Boomer, that fuck. So Bubbles is out. And Buttercup too." He sighs at the mention of her name.

Butch stops and furrows his brow. His options have run very short, leaving only one member of their group that he bares little animosity towards, though acknowledges their uncomfortable, lengthy past. He hasn't really spoken much to Blossom since their break-up, and though he's not really sure he wants to associate with her considering her relationship with Brick, he knows he has no choice.

Without another word to the bartender, Butch quickly gulped down the shot, barely noticing the burn of the vodka leaking down his throat. He is drunk; his thoughts and feelings are mangled into an inebriated mess. He'd taken off from the ruins of his townhouse, carrying nothing but his cell phone, wallet, and lighter, and found his way to this stupid pub that was so rundown it should have been condemned.

Still, cliché as it is to confess his troubles to the sympathetic-bartender type (though to be perfectly honest, this bartender does not look as sympathetic as he does annoyed), he managed to figure out his future. Or what will inevitably turn into a further mess in the grand scheme of Butch's fucked up life.

He shuffles out of the bar, mind blurred with drunken stupor, and carefully begins the short trek to Blossom's. His pace is slow, but he is drunk. The cold air snaps bitingly at his skin, and as he walks he sobers up considerably.

Surely she will not turn him away, he nervously hopes, though he supposes he can't blame her if she does. He is not willing to offer blackmail, particularly considering that a part of him will always have that soft spot for Blossom. They had dated for so long, after all, on and off as it was, and he'd broken her heart more than once.

And so what if she is the mistress in her sister's husband's affair? Butch is more furious with Brick than he is with Blossom, knowing that in the end, it is Brick who will hurt Buttercup more. Blossom and Buttercup's relationship is frayed enough as it is, and Butch knows precisely that it is because of him.

Perhaps this will be an opportunity for him to confront her about it. He'd already gone to Brick's, who had denied, denied, denied in order to protect the false sanctity of his marriage (which Butch is sure will fall apart sooner than later—he'd seen Brick and Blossom together on Brick's wedding night). Now is his chance to offer the same sort of relief, or so he calls it, to Blossom. She is weaker, and not as cold as her lover. Surely she feels remorse.

Before he knows it he has reached her neighbourhood. The house is relatively large and includes a wide, slanted driveway and a neatly planted garden along the walkway (despite it nearing winter). He swallows in a gulp of air and exhales; sober enough to make his way up her driveway without looking like a fool.

"Deep breath, Butch," he whispers to himself. He rings the doorbell.

It takes a while for her to come to the door and when she does, Butch draws back slightly in shock at her unkempt appearance. The Blossom he knows would never look this bedraggled. There are bags under her eyes, bloodshot as they are already, and her hair is wild and uncombed. She is a mess.

"What are you doing here, Butch?" she asks in an almost hissing voice. "It's midnight." Butch gulps in another breath of air.

"My house burned down."

She blinks, trying to understand what he has just told her.

"Your…house…" Suddenly realization dawns and Blossom's features soften into sadness. "Oh, Butch, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. That's horrible. Come in, please."

He walks in gratefully, taking note of the modern interior design of Blossom's house. He looks back at her, biting his lip at the worried expression settled in on her beautiful features. Tired as she looks, Butch realizes Blossom could never be ugly.

"Yeah…I was just wondering if I could stay here for a bit until I figure something out," he asks.

She nods quickly. "Of course, that goes without saying. You can stay in the guest bedroom." She beckons for him to follow her down the hallway, to which he obliges, furrowing his brow when she stops and winces and grabs at her stomach.

"You okay?" he asks.

She nods, looking breathless. Butch slumps back against the wall, suddenly wondering when their world had gotten so fucked up.

_Really and truly fucked…_

* * *

**December 9, Present**

**10:02 PM**

**Diary:**

_I recall my last entry earlier today saying that I was pregnant. I've been coming to grips with it ever since I took that stupid test, and I'm still not sure what I want to do with it. It just seems to be another thing so far out of my control. I have sobered up and now I am panicked. Motherhood seems so daunting. I am not sure I am ready._

_What I need is to tell Brick. I feel as though this will the determining factor in this whole mess: if Brick wants to become fully indebted in his duties as a father, he will have to leave Buttercup. In which case she will finally come to the realization that he has been cheating on her with me. Then she may or may not kill me._

_I have entertained notions of starting a family ever since I was young, perhaps not to the extent as Bubbles, but it was an important factor in planning my future. I did not intend on initializing this goal when I'm not even twenty-five yet, or technically not in a serious relationship. I am fucking up left and right. It is just another thing completely out of my control._

_There is too much happening. I remember even a year ago when everything was just a blissful chain of perfection. Nothing was tainted, and nothing was falling apart. Brick had not yet married Buttercup, though they were engaged, and Bubbles wasn't being a nosy prick. She was so happy on focusing on her relationship with Boomer. _

_Now it's all completely strained. It hurts my head to even think about what my affair with him has done to the foundation of our lives. It's cracked. Scarred. Perpetually adorned with cheating and lies and secrets. It's unfixable; I know this for sure. It's unfixable because I do not want to fix it. _

_And it's because of this that it makes it so hard for me to breathe sometimes._

_I am supposed to be perfect. It is what people use when they associate with me. Perfect Blossom. Perfect, brilliant Blossom; she doesn't make mistakes. _

_Perfection? The idea seems laughable now. I have allowed this erroneous façade to take over even my own perception of myself. I allowed myself to live it and breathe it; they associated me with perfection, then I was perfect. Being anything less now constitutes failure. _

"_It's not hard to love perfection," I remember Brick musing once. He was stroking my bare stomach, pressing into me from the side. I had turned to look at him with a look of confusion on my face. _

"_You're only loving what everyone perceives as perfection," I told him, and then turned back around to fall asleep._

_The idea that he assumed me as perfect was idiotic._

_Though, I remember that I never bothered to correct Butch on his misconceptions. He would leave me if I did. He wanted what he saw, which was beautiful, brilliant Blossom, who did not make mistakes, who would make you feel like you could be perfect too. It was because he could not accept my flaws that our relationship fluctuated so perilously._

_And now everyone will realize how completely _un-_perfect Blossom is._

_Perfection does not become the mistress in a heated affair with its sister's husband. Perfection does not become pregnant from said affair. It was sickening, really._

_And it was a dangerous circuit. Those stupid pills I'd stolen from Buttercup all those years ago were coming back to haunt me. I'd taken them on a whim, saddened by Butch's clear lack of ardour towards me (even though he'd stopped by the next day to have sex all the same—and I allowed him. Sickening). I'd only ever taken two, having hidden the bottle in the bottom of my toiletries bag once we had graduated from university, and Buttercup had never been suspicious (she had blamed her roommate)._

_They were the idea that I could somehow regain a sense of control but it was fucking hard because all I wanted was to lose myself in that mind fuck of nothingness. I want to feel empty, want to be able to wander my house dispassionately, without fear that I'm being fucking stalked, or whatever, by my own sister, when in reality, deep down as it is, I'm still as alone in this world as always._

_I will need to figure out a way to break the news of my pregnancy to everyone, particularly Brick and Buttercup._

_-Blossom_

* * *

"_Quick visit, Miss. Blossom," Phil commented as Blossom appeared in the lobby once more. She gazed at him and smiled._

"_Just popped by to say hello," she chirped. A sudden burst of pain overtook her chest and she gasped, knees buckling. Phil started towards her in concern, but she waved him away, clutching at her chest and willing the shock of pain to go away. It was the first time this whole visit that she felt anything more than palpable euphoria._

_Wincing, she stood up and offered a weak smile to Phil who furrowed his brow at her. "I'm fine," she insisted, making her way through the revolving doors of the building and out into the cold evening air. The sun had almost completely disappeared into the skyline and she could see the moon begin to take over the sky._

_Her mind became clouded almost as though it had never burst through. The buzz had returned, filling her with that sensation of bliss that had previously been so foreign to her. She wished she could feel this way always. The happy buzz. She loves it when the buzz is happy._

_But where had Brick been during her visit? Surely she would have expected to have been with his wife as he was not with her. She hadn't even seen him that day. The notion that he was visiting another mistress entertained her for a moment; the thought was ridiculous. He had done it to Buttercup but there was no way he would do it to her. _

_She was beginning to feel numb, and she was certain it was not from the cold. The air, while brisk, was more comforting than it was biting, and she appreciated the cool slap of wind that countered the imbalance of heat that was continuing to surge through her body. No, the buzz was beginning to take over. She placed her hands to her cheeks, smiling stupidly when she realized she couldn't feel them._

"_Baby," she cooed to her stomach, "this is the happy world I'm going to bring you into. You and me and your daddy, who will love us until the end of time because we all belong together." She was greeted with silence, empty silence that not even the buzz could fill. Loneliness._

_By the time she reached her house, Blossom was feeling sick. She ran to the bathroom and threw up in the sink, noticing that everything was becoming much clearer than it had been. She washed the vomit from the sink, staring down at it listlessly. Her body ached with sickness and fatigue, and she wanted nothing more than to just climb into bed and bury herself beneath her covers until there was nothing left._

_But…there was a greater question to be answered…she was pregnant and she had sobered…but a nagging fear tugged at her insides because she did not know what the buzz she'd felt previously had made her do…and there was no determining what it could have been._

Blossom sighs. She'd never expected that this would happen, that Butch of all people would be living under her roof once more. But at the same time, she knows there is no way she could have said no to him. It is tragic and she can hardly believe it. Perhaps he had assumed that there was nowhere else to turn, and that Blossom, benevolent spirit that she is, would be willing to help him. He was not wrong.

She just wishes there isn't so much tension between them. A familiar sense of paranoia arises up in her and she tries desperately to quell it back down. She needs to overcome this feeling, needs to try and move past its disabling ways.

"Do you want tea, Butch?" she asks her ex-boyfriend, biting her lip anxiously. "I'm going to go make some."

He nods, biting his lip in the same manner as she, as though worried that is the wrong answer. Without a word, Blossom turns on the heels of her fluffy pink slippers and makes her way to her entirely stainless steel and granite kitchen. Butch follows apprehensively, settling in on a barstool set against the island in the centre of the kitchen.

"Green tea okay?" she asks. He nods again and Blossom busies herself preparing the tea. An awkward silence fills the room.

"Tell me what happened," she asks him, desperate to quell the tension in the kitchen. She does not look him in the eye, but hears him shift in the metal seat of the stool he is sitting on.

Butch clears his throat. "I went to work this morning, only for them to tell me I was getting fired," he begins. Blossom turns to look at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, Butch, I'm so sorry," she says quietly.

He frowns but continues. "They called me in just to fire me, so I was pretty pissed off. I was making supper when this fuck kept ringing the doorbell. I dropped my goddamn lighter on the burner and went to get the door. Some ginger fuck was selling something, so I slammed the door in his face. When I got back to the kitchen, it was on fire." He looks at her, green eyes boring into sympathetic pink. "And that's when I ended up here."

Blossom is speechless. She can't even begin to fathom what it would be like to lose everything in one day…she bites her lip, thinking of Brick.

Butch notices. He accepts the cup of tea she hands him wordlessly and stares at her, his gaze deep. She looks back at him, and furrows her brow.

"Is something wrong?"

He opens his mouth to speak again. "I know your—" He is interrupted by the ringing doorbell.

Blossom hurries out of the kitchen, her lips suddenly dry and her heart hammering in her ears. She had felt his knowing gaze on her, and can't believe some of her paranoia is warranted. He knows her secret, she is almost certain of it.

Still erratic, Blossom yanks open the door. Her jaw drops when she sees Brick standing on the other side, a distant smirk settled on his face.

"Hey," he says quietly, stepping over the threshold. He freezes almost immediately. Blossom gulps and looks over her shoulder to where Butch is now leaning against the arch to her kitchen, looking very patently smug. Cursing inwardly, Blossom stumbles back.

"What's _he _doing here?" Brick growls.

"I should ask the same question," Butch muses aloud, sounding much too merry for someone who has just lost everything.

Blossom licks her lips, her heartbeat deafening her. She is frozen.

_This was it._

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Polska – Woo, cliffhanger! Shorter chapter than last, but you may or may not notice. It's only a couple hundred words. Not my best chapter, but I enjoyed it all the same. Boomer is becoming one of my favourite characters to write, and I'm happy I'm **_**finally **_**making leeway on the whole Brick-Blossom-****Buttercup situation. Too many secrets going on at once, and there will be more! Anyways, I will hopefully update a lot sooner than this, though three months is not that bad! Anyways, please let me know if there is anything in this story that you would like more background info on so I can write on it like I did the Buttercup-Brick flashback last chapter. Review please!**

**PS: I'm going back and looking for continuity errors, so remember that chapters 3 to 6 have taken place over the span of one day. I noticed that I skipped five days between chapter 3 and now :/.**

* * *

_**NEXT CHAPTER  
**_DESIRE


	7. Chapter VII: Desire

**Paranoia**

**Polska – What is this? AN UPDATE? I finally got a laptop, a lovely present for getting into university (yay!)! My old desktop computer had a horrendous keyboard, which I hated typing on. This is much smoother and PORTABLE, which means I can update sooner and more often! YAY! Anyways, onto more serious things.**

**I started _Paranoia_ when I was fourteen and the difficult thing about this story is looking back and rereading my first couple chapters. They're not horrible by any means, but they're not the full extent of my talent, which is frustrating. I'm doing a bit of editing to fix basic continuity or just general bad writing while I write this chapter–another feat that's difficult, considering the incredibly specific format I have for each chapter. So, as I digress, I'd like to apologize to anyone who's made it this far—for both my lack of updates and the increasing change in writing as I upload each chapter.**

**Thank you for everyone's reviews!**

_It's the compulsive need to long for something seemingly unattainable that will wield to the continued delusion of your desires._

* * *

**DESIRE**

_v. to wish or long for; want_

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"_I know you've suffered,_

_But I don't want you to hide_

_It's cold and loveless,_

_I won't let you be denied."_

_- Undisclosed Desires, Muse_

The concept is horribly inviting. It is a misleading notion of love and lust and every sensation in between. To desire is to struggle, a steel wall of misconceptions and burning reminders of a desolate future. There is no reassurance.

And there is inevitable pain to your desire. The pain becomes a tattoo on your beating heart, thrusting anxiously to escape its tight confines. The heart aches for what you want and ultimately will lead to a crack, to a fracture, to a break into a million little pieces.

Or the inevitability can be disappointment, which is not nearly as destructive but aches in an alternate way. It will add to a growing mound of insecurity burrowed in the inward depths of your mind until it surpasses and overtakes your thought process. The longing will cease.

But there is no doubt; to desire is to crave is to lust, and there is no denying its finality.

* * *

'_Butch!' _Brick growls inwardly to himself. _'What the _fuck _is he doing here?' _He glances at Blossom, who looks positively sick. Suddenly any anger he's feeling towards her dissipates, replaced by concern and his typical unyielding longing for her. Her visage, while not atypically pale, is drenched with cold shock.

His gaze travels to Butch, patently smug. Brick wants to tear that condescending expression from his face, wants to throw his brother to the ground and pound it from existence, wants to look away. He finds he can't drag his eyes away. His hands curl into tight fists. Butch allows his eyelids to droop with self-righteous pleasure.

He would have no sooner expected flying monkeys than to discover Butch lingering in Blossom's home. Their relationship is fragmented at best, too cracked and hollow to withstand genuine friendship. Butch is a cheater and a liar. He is scum. A fresh wave of anger begins to cloud his thoughts and he is forced to plant his feet firmly into the ground.

"Brick…" Brick looks over to Blossom, her voice small and timid. It throws him momentarily; he is used to, though perhaps not recently, a powerful, assured Blossom, hardly weak. He feels the necessity to tread around her carefully and hold her when she is near to breaking—the kind of emotion that he could not stand if it were anybody else.

"I…" He notes the hesitation in her tone but does not move closer. Residual fury creeps into his thoughts, angry curiosity peaked at Butch's presence. "Butch is…he's just…"

"My house burned to the ground, dear brother," Butch interjects with a falsely polite tone, hardly like his natural rough drawl. His smirk never wanes despite the horror of his statement. "Your kind…_friend_ here offered to let me stay with her 'til I find a place of my own." With that emphasis on the word 'friend', Butch moves towards Blossom is now resting against the arm of her leather sofa and places a lingering arm around her.

Brick is floored. He wants to wrench Butch's arm from its socket and bash him across the head with it. Instead, he focuses on his brother's announcement, fighting desperately the urge to approach his girlfriend and become her source of solace.

"Burned?" he asks, a fleeting sense of guilt crossing his tone. "Why didn't you come to me? I would have let you stay at my place."

Butch shifts in his spot, moulding his feet carefully into the white shag rug Blossom has decorated her floor with. "Ah, but see, I sincerely doubt that you would," he contradicts, still employing the same sugared tone. His grip tightens around Blossom, who does not reject it. Brick curls and uncurls his fists.

"Yes, I would have," he replies with gritted teeth. "I'm not a fucking monster, Butch. You're my brother." The fact rings true throughout the room and Brick notes that Butch seems briefly halted in his next words. He lets go of Blossom and begins to pace across the room.

"Since I thought somethin' else after you threw me out of your apartment this morning, forgive me if I don't want to come runnin' back to your pretentious bullshit," sneers Butch roughly. He pauses to squint his eyes at an abstract painting Blossom has hung on the wall. Brick hears an indistinct mutter of "what the fuck?" under his brother's breath.

Shaking his head, Butch continues, "I took a walk through our old neighborhood, if you can ever remember what lower-middle-class is—" (Brick offers a sneer of his own) "—and did a little bit of grocery shopping with Bubbles so I could cook myself supper, since not all of us have a fucking chef in our homes—"

"Hang on," interrupts Brick, still stationed directly in front of the door where he had initially walked in, "you were with Bubbles today? Does Boomer know?" He is aware of Boomer's temper when it comes to Bubbles and knows that the rest of them are as well. He notices Blossom's sudden stiffened posture.

A brief look of pure, unadulterated rage crosses Butch's face but it disappears before Brick can get a closer look.

"You could say that," Butch says, clenching his jaw tightly. "So I went home, shit happened, and my house is gone. I came here. Now," Butch continues, crossing the floor to where Brick is standing. They are nose to nose, pictures of quivering anger. "What's your excuse?"

_One punch—swift, to the gut, no, knock him to the ground, hit his face. He's right there. _

Brick makes the mistake of allowing his gaze to travel from Butch's stalemate glare to Blossom's fearful expression. Fear—it is out of character on someone as confident as Blossom. He notes her tightened fingers around the edge of the chair, the quickened pace of her rising chest. Her face, white as powdered snow, grows steadily whiter and he begins to fear for her.

"I came to pick something up for Buttercup…"

"Liar," refutes Butch immediately, glare deepening.

'_Fuck,' _Brick says to himself, _'he's right. Buttercup would never send me over to Blossom's by myself.' _He wracks his brains further, cursing himself for breaking down.

He felt incurably weak around her. Buttercup hardly ever invoked such feeling in him, fostering his guiltless ability to speak mistruths to her. A natural capability, like eating, breathing, sleeping, more pleasing than sex—at least with her. There are no mechanics behind it, no desire to be perfect. It flows through him like blood coursing through his veins. It is simplistic.

But at the same time he finds, on some deep inner level, he resents her for it. Brick Ronalds, destined to stay his own person, to never let himself change for anybody. Admittedly, he was not entirely himself as he struggled through his unrequited love for Blossom, so _romantic _and _gushy. _Once or twice, Butch had accused him of turning into Boomer. He certainly remembers vowing never to allow any girl to create such a change within him ever again.

Before he can divulge further into his self-pitying, there is a thud. Brick's head whips forward in unison with Butch's, jaws dropping simultaneously.

"Blossom!" he cries, rushing forward to the fallen woman. She'd collapsed on the carpet, cheek brushing against the soft fur of her rug, arms and legs sprawled ungracefully. Her chest heaves rather noticeably and her lips are parted in vocalized breaths. He sinks down to his knees beside her, pressing his hand to her back.

She does not wake.

_Please be alright…_

* * *

_December 10_

_Dear Professor,_

_I'm quite relieved they fired me from Wendell & Burkes! That Harvard law degree was worthwhile, but not for me. Boomer and I are going to open our store very soon._

_The wedding planning is going great! Vegetarian course meals, gluten-free wedding cake, completely eco-friendly—I'm sure it will be something new for everyone to enjoy._

_My sisters are awesome, my relationship is amazing—Boomer treats me like an angel. We couldn't be happier. He is completely sober, too! _

_Sorry for worrying you in my other letters but everything seems to be okay now! Everyone is feeling perfect. I am feeling perfect. _

_See you soon, _

_Love, Bubbles :)_

* * *

The apartment is suffocating. It clenches at her throat with a ghostly grip and squeezes her bones until she can feel them begin to grind into dust. The walls narrow in, trapping her heart into her lungs so she can barely stand to breathe, skin and hair and eyes and bones. Staleness dries her down. She draws cigarette after cigarette until she has none left.

She slips on her belted coat and leaves the apartment before it crushes her to pieces.

It's after midnight, almost one in the morning. Phil is gone and the night doorman, Earl, has taken his place. He tips his hat accordingly to her, though does not speak, not quite as familiar with her as Phil is. She smiles tightly back and escapes through the revolving door.

The air is fresh out here, no trace of mustiness or rancid cigarette. She gives a prolonged sniff. It's bitingly cold, comforting to Buttercup, away from the hot, stale air eating away at her in her penthouse. She gazes up at the distant moon, which has vaguely lit up the street of apartment buildings and sprawling suburban homes. She spies a few lit Christmas trees decorated a front window or lawn, and feels decidedly nostalgic.

She and Brick have not ever celebrated Christmas together. Brick is an atheist and she is uncaring, and their minute celebration consisted of an excessively expensive piece of jewellery from him and a bottle of designer cologne from her to add to his ever-expanding collection. Never has she felt the familiarity of home with him, though she always manages to convince herself that it is better this way. They are high class, society people. Surely they do not need petty, childish holiday traditions.

Shivering, Buttercup pulls her coat in tighter around her. She is wearing nothing but lounge pants over her lace corset as well as Ugg boots that have seen better days, hardly appropriate winter attire. She finds it rarely snows in Townsville, but the city seems to succumb easily to cold, snapping wind that perhaps is no better than snow.

He had rejected her. Only once has Buttercup ever found herself rejected by a man, and that had been Butch. True, Blossom seemed to be the most appealing of the trio of sisters at the time, but Buttercup, amid her tough demeanour, vowed to change that. She would be more cunning than her sister, employ more feminine wile. Rejection would soon escape her vocabulary into oblivion.

It had worked—not a single man was able to escape her talons. Long had she given up on Butch, aroused her feelings for Brick, appealed to him, and claimed him as her own. It seemed she had soon wrapped him around her finger, calm, stern, solid Brick Ronalds, who outwardly declared to never change for anybody but himself.

Though now, as she thinks back to the scene in their bedroom, she wonders if that had even been the case. Had he really changed for her? Doubt begins to cloud her previous pride for this matter—she assumed she had changed him, but their relationship has never been _passionate _like she always assumed. In the early stages, perhaps, but thinking back a sort of dread mounts in the pit of her stomach. A façade, it seems; she's deluded herself.

There is no place for her to go usually out her building. Buttercup considers herself a kind of trophy wife, though not by her own choice, having never properly utilized her college degree. The Professor had not been pleased; _"what are you going to do with this Mickey Mouse degree?" _he'd shot out, and she made a point to ignore him. Brick is enough to provide for the pair of them and soon Buttercup found herself intertwined with society events that she pointedly refuses to join.

The night is deathly still, the moon bright and foreboding. There is no sense of company, only emptiness and nothingness and loneliness, as if there is nobody else on earth. It's a silence that deafens and a coolness that whistles through one ear and out the other. Her mind is abrupt with swirling thoughts having nothing else to focus on but her own pathetic existence.

She can't seduce him; he does not accept her advances. Her bitchiness does not affect him; he is filled with his own sullen coldness. At these times she does not hesitate to wonder what else is left for her with him. He's withdrawn from her, mentally, socially, sexually, and it crosses her mind, not once or twice but multiple times, if he has found someone else to take her place. Someone more like him, more ambitious, kinder, softer, more approachable—someone like…

No, she refuses to entertain that notion. As strained as she feels with her sister, their relationship continues to flutter through the timeline, weak, but still there. A frayed knot, ends fringed with wear and disappointment, but strong enough to withstand it. Neither will jeopardize it, Buttercup insists to herself, Blossom takes more care than that. Her thoughts linger over to her sister's announcement of her pregnancy…no, there was no way.

Looking around the dark abandoned street, she realizes she doesn't want to go back home. Alone with her cigarettes, liquor, and thoughts does not appeal much to her, knowing that Brick is most likely not going to come home tonight either. But where else is there to go around here? It's one am…hardly a suitable time for someone like her to go walking around the neighborhood by herself, even as unafraid as she is, even as supposedly safe the area is. She approaches a nearby arboretum, not with even a glimmer of hesitation, pulling her coat tighter around her.

Her boots shuffle against the dark cobblestone, whatever of which is lit up by faint moonlight shadowed by the dark, towering feathered trees positioned arbitrarily on either side of the path. There's a small playground near the end of the path nearby a series of lampposts overlooking elegantly carved wooden benches. She wanders to the playground and, kicking sand over her boots, settles in on one of the swings on the lone swing set.

Dragging her feet through the shadowed sand she pushes herself forward slightly and then backwards. The cold breeze she's grown accustomed to snaps at her cheeks as she moves through the air, feet never leaving the ground. It's been so long since she's been on one of these; nearly as long since she's allowed herself to forego her stiff, rampaging thoughts into carefree spontaneity. What Brick would think of her now…

She wishes for once she can stop thinking about him, but all that seems to constantly cross her mind is what happened to them that everything they do is completely emotionless? Buttercup clenches her fists tight around the chain link of the swing. Goddamn Brick…doing this to her when she's supposed to have everything.

Her cell phone rings, echoing through the otherwise silent park. Who is calling her at one in the morning? she wonders to herself.

Glancing at the phone, she raises her eyebrows when she sees Brick's name decorating the screen. Sliding a finger across the touch pad, she places the cell phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she asks, not without inquisition.

A slight pause, then...

"_Buttercup, come down to the hospital," _his voice comes through static-filled.

Her heart rate quickens. "Why?" she questions hurriedly, "are you okay? What's wrong?"

"_I'm fine, but Blossom isn't," _he says, cracking through the phone. Buttercup furrows her brow at the tone of his voice…much more worried that he's ever been for her, as far as she can remember. The same tone he employs when something has been stressing him out to the point of not sleeping, when he doesn't eat or speak, when there's only one thing on his mind and even she can't distract him.

"What happened?" she asks, a bit more shortly than she intends. She stands up from the swing and makes her way back to the path.

"_She fainted and wouldn't wake up so Butch and I brought her to the hospital," _he replies, sounding strained.

Buttercup allows her words to sink in, fury leaking into her thoughts. "What are you doing with Butch and Blossom?" she spits out accusatorily. "Is that where you went tonight, Brick? To meet up with your brother, who you hate, and your ex-girlfriend?" She hates that he can make her feel so vulnerable.

Brick sighs like she is an ignorant little child. "_Buttercup, now is not the time for your insecurities. Your sister is lying in a hospital bed. Forgive me if I thought you might like to know. We're at Townsville Memorial Hospital, if you decide to come." _And he hangs up before she can respond.

Damn Brick! She throws her phone to the ground in a fit of rage, watching as a crack etches along the screen. Then, after bending down to pick it up with a frustrated sigh, she dials a number for the cab company and requests a taxi for the hospital.

What the fuck had he been doing with her sister and his brother? Butch and Blossom are two people neither of them carries much desire to be around, respectively, and she finds herself filled with a familiar irritation with her sister. Of course, even sick Blossom will always find a way to upstage her.

She waits for the cab.

_Damn them…_

* * *

"Blossom, I left Buttercup," he murmurs into her ear as he holds her. His touch is so warm and his skin is so soft. He strokes her silky hair with the tips of his fingers, encasing her hand with his other. He kisses her neck softly, trailing his fingers across her cheekbone, down her neck, her chest, her beautifully supple skin. His heartbeat beat steadily against her back, seamlessly coinciding with hers, smooth and effortless.

She smiles into her pillow. Her eyes are closed as she lies with him in perfect serenity. The last thing she remembers is collapsing to the ground in her living room, suddenly lost to the world. After waking up, she found herself settled in comfortably beneath the cotton-threaded sheets of her queen bed, Brick pressing into her from behind.

"Am I okay?" she had asked and he only smiled and kissed her forehead before relaying the news about Buttercup.

"How did she take it?" she inquires, readying herself for his fingers now tracing her collarbone and moving up slowly back to her face. He draws over her lower lip and she kisses his finger softly.

Brick leans in over her ear. "Our marriage fell apart the moment we got married. I'm sure she understood," he replies, sounding amused. She turns around until they are face to face and she can feel his breath tinted against her nose. They are so close, so inviting…

She leans in and presses her lips to his. He reciprocates immediately, moving his mouth in gentle motion with hers, allowing her to melt as softly into his arms as she could breathe. The heat shocks the butterflies in her stomach into a harried race, conveying tingles to the very tips of fingers. She never wants to let go.

He pulls her onto him and wraps his arms around her waist. He tastes like chocolate and strawberries, the most delectable concoction she has ever savoured. He kisses her neck runs a loose hand down her thighs, outer, inner…he makes her feel like no other man has ever managed. He's intoxicating and poisonous and his kisses are more toxic than cigarettes.

She finds herself standing at the door of a store called "_B&B Essentials_", adorned in the windows with candles and jewels and crystals and various herbs. Walking through the glass door, hearing the bell chime above head, she makes her way slowly to the cashier desk, where Bubbles is standing. She is serving customers happily, packaging their items gently in recyclable paper and scented tissue.

"Blossom!" she calls once she is done with a customer. Blossom runs her fingers over a shelf filled with energy crystals and another of tall wax candles. Mind, body, spirit…things to bring peace and calm to her life—though, now that she thinks about it, she can't think of a single instance where any part of her life is erratic.

"Wow, Bubbles, looks like everything is turning out really well," she says, sounding impressed. Bubbles looks pleased. Her blond hair is loose and wrapped with a blue gypsy scarf and there is a collection of beaded necklaces and gemstones around her neck. Loose, carefree, utterly in touch with her mind, body, and spirit.

Boomer walks through the beaded curtain leading into the back room holding an enormous cardboard box. "Babe, where do you want me to put this stuff?" He gazes adoringly at his fiancée, his face smooth and unworn, blue eyes bright and shining.

"Oh, anywhere," Bubbles says breezily. He settles the box down on the counter and suddenly grabs Bubbles from behind into a tight bear hug. She squeals loudly and giggles, eliciting a laugh from Blossom, who watches amusedly. She peruses through the candles, pausing at the vanilla-scented ones. She considers purchasing one when a tall silver candle catches her eye.

"For dreams," she reads on the card positioned at the base of the candle.

A loose breeze curls around her head and she looks up. She is no longer in Bubbles' New Age shop, standing in Buttercup's penthouse apartment. It is completely silent in the apartment and she notices a few changes from her last visit. Brick's laptop, which seemed to never have left its spot on the glass coffee table is gone, and the ugly ceiling logs have been replaced with thick marble. Something catches her eye on the mantle of the fireplace and she approaches it carefully.

The picture of Brick and Buttercup is gone, replaced by a series of framed photos of Buttercup with Butch—in his arms, laughing freely; arms around his neck, left leg kicked up behind her; hands pressed to his face, kissing him and smiling. A noise behind her causes her to jump and she turns around, only to find Buttercup standing in the kitchen, watching her.

"We just got them done," she muses, approaching Blossom. Her black hair is cut into a short bob at the nape of her neck and her verdant eyes are make-up free. She is dressed in yoga pants and a loose green jersey, evidently not her own. She looks relaxed and carefree and smells like spiced chocolate.

"It's beautiful," Blossom agrees. She smiles at her sister, who envelopes her in a hug.

"I hope we can forgive each other," Buttercup murmurs into her ear, holding tight. "Brick and I evidently were not meant for each other but you are, and I know you two will be amazing parents for little Bailey."

The thought of her daughter makes her heart melt. She musters a huge smile and says, "thank you." Buttercup leads her to the kitchen where Butch is now making three cups of tea. He kisses Buttercup on the temple and sets a cup in front of her and her sister.

She watches the couple carefully, sipping her fruity tea. She cannot seem to remember their wedding or giving birth to her child, though every instance of the name she'd always planned on giving her future daughter and the idea of her are enough to fill her with surging warmth. She can't, however, put a face to the name no matter how hard she tries.

Glancing out the window, her eyebrows rise in shock. The sky is completely drenched in violet, spattered with purple clouds and a blue moon. She feels a familiar, loose breeze wrap around her head. Buttercup and Butch become distant figures in her eyes as she moves farther away from them, surrounded by an expanse of black nothingness. There is nothing to keep her grounded and suddenly she feels herself falling, falling, falling…

"_Will she be okay, doctor?" _

"_She should be fine. Just a lot of rest, I think."_

"_What happened to her?"_

"_Seems she was incredibly stressed and dehydrated. Her body was worse for wear. It just couldn't stand it anymore."_

Footsteps. There is nobody in the room. She can hear herself breathing but can't see anything but darkness. She cries out but can't hear anything but her own heart.

_It was just a dream…_

* * *

_I sat at my laptop, typing up my final class paper. There were one hundred words to go on a Saturday night, with only alcohol and light classical music to keep me going. I took a sip of my ginger ale and vodka mix, and hesitated over the keys of my computer. I was so close to the end…I glanced at the clock; it was after one AM._

_Sighing, I leaned back and closed the top of my laptop. It seemed I was unable to focus on finishing this goddamn paper, even with so little left. I gulped down the rest of my drink, shuddering at the thick alcohol burning my tongue. A thick buzz was beginning to settle in around my head, but alcohol did not affect me as much as it did my sisters._

_Suddenly the buzzer to my apartment sounded. Getting up and padding across the scratchy beige carpet, I pressed a button on the intercom, wondering who the hell was calling so late at night. I did not assume it was Brick, knowing he was out of town this weekend visiting his mother._

"_Hi, Buttercup," came a slurring voice. I frowned. What was Butch doing here? I let him up, though not without reluctance._

_Minutes later there was a loud thump on the door. I had been resting my back against the wall next to the door, eyes closed, breathing stilled. Sighing, I slid off the chain and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal a very inebriated Butch resting against the doorframe, a sloppy smirk situated on his face. He stumbled in, collapsing on the corduroy couch._

"_What are you doing here?" I asked, pulling my dark hair into a loose ponytail. I found that, even after all these years, and even though I certainly did not love him anymore, he still managed to elicit these strange nervous feelings in me. It did not help that he looked particularly good tonight, despite the overt drunkenness in his appearance. His black hair was tousled messily and he wore loose jeans with a tight polo shirt that I remembered loving so much way back when._

"_I just wanted to see you," he slurred. He stood up and stumbled over to me, placing a hand on the wall on either side of my head. My heartbeat quickened. What was he doing?_

"_We never seem to talk anymore, B-Cup," he murmured, using a nickname I so despised. He leaned in, pressing his lips close to my ear. I squirmed, pressing my hands to his chest in an attempt to push him away. But while I was strong, he was stronger, not to mention drunk, and he would not budge._

_He moved his mouth over to mine, but I quickly averted my head. His lips landed on my cheek but he was not deterred. _

"_Come on, Buttercup, Brick's not here," he said, grabbing my chin and yanking it towards his face._

"_Stop!" I shouted, shoving him as hard as I could. He stumbled backwards but did not go very far. Instead, he managed to grab my arm and I fell to the ground. He lowered himself on top of me and tried once more to kiss me. I squirmed beneath him, attempted to knee him in the crotch, and tried to free my hands from his tight grasp. He wouldn't budge and I could feel myself beginning to grow fearful. _

"_Butch! Get off of me!" I cried out. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my neck._

"_Come on," he muttered once more, "just once. I'm so lonely without you…"_

"_NO!" I screamed and found the strength to raise my leg up and slam it heavily into his crotch. He swore loudly and fell off me, hitting his head against the wall. I scrambled to my feet and fell back against the couch, my heart pounding thickly in my ears. He rubbed the back of his head and looked up at me, horrified._

"_Buttercup, I'm so sorry," he said, reaching out to me but I didn't want him anywhere near me._

"_Get OUT!" I snarled and he left, casting me one last dismayed, apologetic look. I heard him stumbling through the hallway and wondered where he was going briefly, before I realized I didn't care. Heart still hammering painfully against my chest, I collapsed on the couch and buried my face into a pillow, cursing._

_X X X_

_I lit a joint and inhaled it as deeply as I could. Butch cackled nearby, nearly rolling over the couch as Brick mused silently to himself in the corner. I coughed, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my throat. As many times as I'd done this, the burn never ceased to hurt. I inhaled once more, relishing the idea of getting high much faster._

_The room was thick with the scent of my favourite plant. There was a light haze of smoke that hovered around the ceiling, something I seemed to find hilarious for some reason. I fell onto my back, staring wide-eyed at the grey painted ceiling. We were in my basement, surrounded by booze and pot and cigarettes. Graduation party, I had suggested to my brothers. To Bubbles, it was a brothers' night out. Bubbles loved the idea of family. She did not object._

_These moments with my brothers were some of my favourites. Drinking beer, doing shots, smoking weed, and then attempting to play video games. Were we too mature for this shit? Not at all. Before real life even attempted to begin, why not act like little fuckheads for a bit longer?_

"_Butch! You fucking asshole!" I raged as Butch slammed my player into the boards and proceeded to score a goal. He merely smirked hazily at me and continued to rapidly press the buttons with his fingers. Butch was the only person I knew who was good at video games when he was drunk and stoned all at once. Ironically, he was no good when he was just one or the other._

_Brick watched lazily from the couch, occasionally taking stretch to place his joint to his lips and smoke it deeply. He seemed to be more out of it than us, though that did tend to happen. Butch and I are a lot more rambunctious, bouncing off the walls, violently playing video games, as loud and boisterous as we can be._

_I set my controller down momentarily to take another hit from the bong Butch had put out. While time had seemed to slow down, I wanted to push through it as fast as I could. I burst into laughter as Butch dropped his controller to take his own hit, and soon the three of us were laughing like complete idiots._

"_Boomer?" I barely heard her voice, still laughing. I didn't notice her until she was standing overhead, staring down at us collapsed on the ground. The rancid smell of pot stung delectably through my nose, but I saw her wrinkle hers disgustedly. I laughed again._

"This _is your graduation party?" she yelled, stomping her foot on the ground. I grinned lethargically up at her._

"_What are you so mad about, babe?" I asked, grabbing at her legs. "Come join the party!" I tried to pull her on top of me but she slapped me across the face and moved away. My face was numb and I didn't feel it, but Butch burst into laughter once more and I had to comply._

_Bubbles narrowed her eyes at me contemptuously. "I can't believe you," she hissed. "You. Are. An. Asshole."_

_She left, slamming the door behind her, but our laughter did not cease._

_X X X_

"_Brick!" she called, but I didn't want to hear her. Instead I quickened my pace and ignored her._

"_Brick," she pleaded, trying to keep up. She was fast, but she wasn't faster than me, and I bounded for the steps leading up to my front door. With my hand on the door knob, I intended on going inside when I made the mistake of looking back to her. She had tears in her eyes. Amid my anger and domineering male pride, I couldn't leave a crying girl by herself. Frustrated, I stopped and let her approach._

"_What?" I growled._

_I couldn't look at her face. Tears or not, she was a bitch. I felt like an idiot, allowing myself to become so drawn into her. What the fuck had I been thinking? Guys like me didn't trail after girls like fucking puppy dogs. They came to me. Blossom was never supposed be anything more than a mere desire. Instead, I found myself increasingly falling in love with her. What a joke._

"_Don't be mad at me, please," she said, leaning out to grasp my hands. I yanked them out of her grip and turned to glare at her. She flinched at the vehemence that had taken over my expression but I ignored it. _

"_You are unbelievable," I said to her, my tone low and furious. "You knew exactly how I felt about you but you used me, and I then I had to walk in on you and Butch together? I don't want to talk to you, Blossom, get the fucking picture."_

_She did not leave and instead stared up at me with her wide, pink eyes. It infuriated me how she could just stand there and pretend to look so innocuous when she knew just how despicably she had acted. I clenched my fists, hating how she could elicit these emotions in me that I never knew I had. Heartbreak. _

"_I never used you," she tried, but I wasn't hearing any of it. I barked out a laugh and shook my head, disbelieving that she was trying to deny any of this._

"_What a joke," I shot back._

_She grew angry. "What the hell are you so mad about?" she snapped. I stepped back, surprised. "We weren't dating. I am allowed to hook up with whoever I want. You don't control me!" she shouted and I found myself staring down at her with shock. Pretty Blossom, once seemingly pure and untouched, now stained with the touch of my younger brother. I could barely stand to look at her._

"_Just leave," I said and left her._

_She turned on her heel, shot me one last contemptuous glare, and left. I tried to dispel the thoughts of her leaving to find Butch. Then, cursing myself for allowing her to make me feel this way, I walked into my house and slammed the door._

* * *

"_I'll go with her in the ambulance, you follow us in her car," Brick said, throwing him the keys. Butch opened his mouth to retort but his brother was out the door after the paramedics before he could even say anything. Grumbling to himself, he settled himself angrily in Blossom's Acura and followed the ambulance down the street._

Now, sitting in the waiting room, Butch feels a little anxious. He hates hospitals. He hates the sense of foreboding he gets from a place like this, and he hates the constant discomfort. There is no comfort in the waiting room. Everyone is nervous, or sad, or angry. He does not blame them, but it does not make him like it any better.

Brick is pacing back and forth, body stiff and tense. Butch watches him carefully. Despite himself, he can't help but feel a little bad for his brother. He too is worried about Blossom, but, as he continues to watch his brother pace, evidently not the same extent as Brick. He knows Blossom will be okay, but it _had _been a shock to him to see her collapse like that…

"Brick, just sit down," Butch says wearily. Brick shoots him a dirty look.

"This is all your fault, you know," he hisses back. Butch raises his eyebrows. He feels a minute cloud of anger rise in the back of his mind but shoos it away, not in the mood to get into an intense confrontation with his brother right now.

He takes a deep breath before speaking. "How's that?" he asks as evenly as he can.

"You stressed her out with your bullshit," Brick continues, his expression derisive. "Whatever problem you have with me you should take it up with _me _and not with _her. _Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with her." He does not sound entirely convinced in his words but hides it well, and Butch does not notice.

Instead, he is completely floored. He stares at his brother with shock. How can anybody, let alone _Brick, _be so dense? He squints his eyes as if to see him better, hardly believing that he is completely unaware of what Butch had been getting at before Blossom had collapsed.

"Brick," he says exasperatedly, "enough. It's over."

"If by that you mean this conversation, then I agree," Brick replies stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest. "Because I have no idea what you're talking about."

Butch, well versed in fighting, resists the urge to slam his brother into the wall opposite them. He is so _stubborn _and unaccepting of things that would only indicate his own defeat. Instead of retaliating, Butch merely shakes his head and stands up. He is hardly in the mood to get into another argument with his brother, particularly in such a place where the only feeling he is getting is one of utter uneasiness.

"Where are you going?" Brick calls after him.

"To see Blossom," he retorts shortly, and walks through the open door of Blossom's room.

A nurse is standing at her bedside, positioning the pillows around her head. Butch feels his heart lurch at the sight of her lying on the bed, messy red hair, strangely tinted with orange, splayed messily around the pillow and down to her shoulders as if they have not taken care to comb through it. Her left hand is inserted with a needle, extended with a cord hooked up to an IV. She looks delicate, almost as if she can shatter at any instance.

Suddenly he hears footsteps and a doctor enters the room. He has greying hair and charming wrinkles decorating his face, and is dressed in a lab coat and grey trousers.

"Oh!" he exclaims, sounding surprised. "I didn't know Miss. Utonium had visitors. I'm Dr. Layton and you are…?"

"Butch," he introduces himself, shaking the doctor's hand. "I was the one that brought her here."

"Are you a relative or…?"

Butch contemplates this for a second. If he tells the truth, he will not know what is going on until one of her sisters gets here. At that point, he will surely not have another opportunity to confront Brick for a while. There is only one thing he knows he has to do.

"Yes," he lies, "I'm her brother. Butch Utonium. What's wrong with her? Will she be all right?"

Dr. Layton scribbles something into Blossom's file. "Yes, she will be fine. She was dehydrated and evidently very stressed. We will most likely be keeping her overnight just in case."

Butch feels a sense of relief escape from the tightness in his chest. She will be okay…

"However," Dr. Layton continues and Butch freezes, "it turns out that she is pregnant. The stress is not good for the baby and we will need a second reference just in case. Were you aware of her pregnancy?"

Butch cannot speak. He turns to look at Blossom, small and delicate amid her white covers and hospital gown, and stares. The realization that she is carrying a little child, _Brick's _little child, does not dawn on him for a few moments. Blossom, intelligent, beautiful Blossom, impregnated by her sister's husband…Butch feels sick to his stomach.

"No, I was not aware," he manages to get out, finally turning away.

_I can't believe this…_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Polska – Woo, well now Butch knows that Blossom is pregnant. Looks like their façade is about to come crumbling around them, depending on what our lovely green Ruff decides to do. Anyways I'm so extremely happy with this chapter you have no idea. Best chapter UNDOUBTEDLY. Buttercup's part was one of the best scenes I've ever written and I absolutely adored Blossom's dreamscape. The fluff in that scene was essential to the plot, so if you hated it, I'm sorry, there probably won't be any more in the future; and if you loved it, I'm also sorry haha. I'm trying to put these characters in a very unsympathetic light because they are **_**not **_**pitiable people. They are extremely flawed and essentially self-centred and if you got that, great! :) Anyways, please review and tell me if there is anything you would like insight on! I love you all. Hopefully I can update by the end of this month before my midterms start.**

* * *

**_NEXT CHAPTER  
_**REVELATION


	8. Chapter VIII: Revelation

**Paranoia**

**Polska – I haven't written anything, and I mean ANYTHING, since I last updated this story. Okay, I wrote one line of the novel I'm working on. Congratulations, Polska –rolls eyes-. But yeah, I'm going to try my best. I love this story a ton.**

**I usually thank all my reviewers through replies but here's an extra special thank you for sticking with this story even after my incredible flakiness! I love you all.**

**PS: Shit's about to get real in the next couple chapters, YES!**

_As the spinning circuit spins wildly out of control, secrets will crack and reveal themselves to the tainted world._

* * *

**REVELATION**

_n. something revealed or disclosed, especially a striking disclosure, as of something not yet discovered_

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"_And I built a home _

_For you, for me_

_Until it disappeared _

_For me, for you_

_And now it's time to leave and turn to dust."_

_-To Build a Home, Cinematic Orchestra_

Nothing can stay locked under hollow delusion; nothing can stay secret forever.

It becomes a veritable inevitability that begins to circle tauntingly, unable to be locked away.

The lie will be revealed when everything spirals out of control.

* * *

"Which room is Blossom Utonium in? I'm her sister. She was just admitted tonight."

The nurse glances up at her coolly, askance, eyes judging her lace corset and loose black waves; perhaps wondering why this woman is standing in her hospital looking like a promiscuous Morticia Addams.

Buttercup is used to the judgement. She taps her long crimson nails on the nurse's counter impatiently, gaze settled intently on the pudgy brunette nurse in front of her. She watches as the nurse clicks on the keys of her computer before adverting her eyes and speaking to Buttercup for the first time.

"Miss. Utonium," the nurse says, speaking authoritatively, "is in room 208. But I'll have you know, young lady, that visiting hours are quite over and…"

Her voice trails off as Buttercup disappears down the hall, boots shuffling across the pristine, albeit worn, linoleum. She keeps her gaze locked straight ahead, hating the sight and the smell of sick people, shuddering unnoticeably from the strange taste in her mouth. She hates hospitals and is dreading ever having come tonight.

Selfishly, she resents Blossom, dragging her siblings and friends out to the hospital in the middle of the night. She knows it's unfair and she worries for her sister, but then she thinks of Brick and, strangely, of Butch and a haze of selfishness clouds every level but the one she's on now. She resents Blossom for being so goddamn wonderful.

Tightness envelopes her stomach and she pauses in the middle of the hall, collapsing back against the wall. _'Goddammit, Buttercup,'_ she silently scolds herself, _'stop being so selfish for once. People would love you just the same if you were in Blossom's place right now…'_

But perhaps she knows that's not true.

Lifting herself off the wall, Buttercup resumes her pace and rounds the corner to see her sister, her husband, and his brothers settled in stiff-cushioned chairs in a squared off waiting room. Brick is leaning back in his chair, head tilted to the side, expression hollowed and empty. Butch has his eyebrows furrowed and looks especially troubled. The group sits in tense silence, the air stilled with awkwardness and thick-cut hostility. Boomer sits away from the group, occasionally looking up and sending Butch hard, angry glances. Bubbles remains oblivious and jumps up when she sees her sister appear.

"Buttercup!" Bubbles exclaims and races towards her. "I'm so glad you made it!"

Buttercup allows herself to be enveloped in Bubbles' tight grip, noting her sister's unkempt blonde waves, knee-length wool sweater, and slipper-covered feet. At least she is wearing shoes.

Brick avoids her eyes as she follows Bubbles to the chairs. Irritated, she sits down next to her blonde sister and waves half-heartedly to the remaining Ronalds' brothers.

"So…is anybody going to tell me what happened?" Buttercup asks impatiently after a few moments of silence. "How did Blossom end up in the hospital?" She can't keep her contempt out of her voice.

Brick's head shoots up at her tone but before he can speak, Bubbles cuts him off.

"Dr. Layton just told us she was dehydrated and stressed and that they're keeping her overnight. I mean, it kind of makes sense lately, if you've seen her, I mean, have you ever seen Blossom so stressed, it's really strange if you ask me, she's never been like this before," Bubbles babbles on. "I've barely even talked to her and that's really strange 'cause before we used to talk all the time, she even used to call me and I actually don't even remember the last time she called me, but I guess she's really busy now…"

Buttercup fades out of the conversation as her gaze slowly travels towards her husband. He's staring at her unblinkingly, expression indescribable. The air between them is uncomfortable, prickling down her skin with the tip of a blade. She wants to hate him and she wants to kiss him, but more than ever she wants him to love her again.

She breaks Brick's stare and looks down the hall where she's certain Blossom's room is located. An unfamiliar anxiety rises up and she bites her lip. What if Blossom is seriously ill? Buttercup chides herself on her previous selfishness as guilt combines with unease and caresses her spine until she squirms awkwardly to rid herself of the foreign sensation. How could she accuse her sister of being with Brick when she could be lying on her death bed?

"Can I see her?" she interjects through Bubbles speech, anxiously running her hand through her black hair.

"She's unconscious," Brick says shortly, as if it is her fault. She does not face him, looking expectantly at one of the others to answer her.

No one speaks and Brick's words hang in the air, painful and daunting insights of reality.

"Bubbles," she says pointedly, ignoring Brick and slicing the tension once more with her words. "Can I see her or not?"

"Didn't you hear me, Buttercup? She's _unconscious_," he says loudly, forcing her to turn around to face him. He's leaning forward in his chair, his hollowed mask replaced with one of judgement and unadulterated fury. The look shocks her and she is speechless. Butch is looking at him with surprise, matching the expression on Bubbles' face. Boomer, however, remains seated at the end of the row, staring down the hall and looking utterly disinterested.

Buttercup recovers almost immediately. "That doesn't answer my question," she snaps, feeling a furious rise in her tone. "And I wasn't asking you. I was asking my _sister_."

"Oh, you remembered you have sisters, did you?" he snarls back at her, now rising from his chair. "You didn't seem so keen to visit your other sister when I told her she was in the _hospital_." He stands at the edge of his chair, eyes fixated solely on her as if the others do not exist and they are merely in the comfort of their own apartment; not a familiar comfort that she desires, but something to which she is unaccustomed, something she knows she should have seen coming.

"I was processing the news that you were with the brother you hate and the girl you used to love!" Buttercup shouts, the words slipping out before she can control them.

There is silence and a clatter as Butch stands from his chair and shoves it away. He does not look at them and begins making his way down the hall.

"Where are you going?" Bubbles asks, sounding desperate to change the subject. Buttercup grits her teeth, noting that Bubbles does not seem the least bit surprised to hear that Brick had been with the two people he claims to despise the most (or at least had once claimed).

"To see if Blossom is awake. I don't want to listen to this bullshit," Butch snarls at them without looking back once.

Buttercup collapses into a seat and rolls her head back against the wall, feeling suddenly tired. She does not have to look to hear Brick leave the group without saying a word and feels Bubbles' hand encase her own. Tears slowly well up behind her eyes but she is too slow to blink them away.

_What has happened to us…_

* * *

_November 30, Present Year_

_Dear Dr. Ronalds,_

_I don't know if you know, but I've written so many letters to the Professor over the past few weeks I have lost count. I have not received a single response from him, not a single letter, email, or even a phone call. Every time I've called I have received a busy signal or else the answering machine. I would be worried if I weren't so angry at him…_

_I feel like he is doing this on purpose, foolishly and like a spiteful little child. And frankly, that would be exactly like him. You know how he is and how spiteful he can be when something doesn't go his way. I hate to speak ill of my parent, adopted or not, but I'm angry and I'm frustrated and just completely confused as to why he won't _answer _me._

_I'm not sure where you are either, Dr. Ronalds. Perhaps you are with the Professor, maybe you're elsewhere and don't know what's going on with him either. Either way, if I wasn't so busy I'd be up there to visit the pair of you in a second. And I'm seriously considering it._

_I hope you have some answers for me._

_The boys are doing great._

_Love, Bubbles_

* * *

Blossom blinks into a haze of fluorescent light. Her body feels tight and her head nearly pounds her back into a state of unconsciousness. She tries to groan but there is a rasp in her throat that limits her speech, voicing the knowledge that there is something horribly wrong. She gazes down her arm, at the IV lodged into the back of her hand and connected to the stand next to her bed. Horrified, she looks around the room, noting the barren ivory walls and old Panasonic television attached to the wall. She is dressed in a hospital gown patterned in green dots. The silence is deafening.

Finally the groan escapes and she rolls her head side to side into the pillow. She'd fainted on her carpet, remembering the argument Brick and Butch had been having, how close her secret had been to escaping and how difficult it had been for Brick to try to protect it. The knowledge had dazed her and it had weakened her and all the stress that she had been feeling had taken over and nearly destroyed her and…

Her baby! Blossom moves her hand over her stomach as if expecting the baby to announce its presence and reassure her that it was okay. Her heartbeat quickens again but she breathes deeply to calm herself, hands pressed to her stomach in encouragement. She steadies herself and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, wanting nothing more than to escape this bed and run away as fast as she can.

The clock on the wall tells her that it's three in the morning and she wonders how long she's been here, how long she's been unconscious. She feels pathetic and small in her oversized gown, wishing they'd dress her in one of her familiar pencil skirts or fitted blouses or at least her favourite silk pyjamas. The gown leaves her naked and vulnerable, the last thing she wants to be in front of the people she loves.

Had they been to visit her? She thinks of Brick, used to seeing her exposed, holding her when she is defenceless, comforting her because they are so at ease with one another. He would not have thought her as weak if he visited her, but maybe would have caressed her hair adoringly while she lay in a dreamless slumber like a prince from a fairy tale.

The thought soothes her as much as it shames her. She feels reliant on him, hating that she could be so weak. She is supposed to be more than this and her steady rock of control has slipped from her grasp and into an erratic whirlpool that threatens to consume her too. But though Brick had catalysed it, he had become her stability and though she hates to admit it, she knows she is not yet strong enough to lose him.

Blossom sighs. It crosses her mind on more than one occasion what would have happened if they had controlled themselves, if he had left her alone at his own wedding. She wonders if she would be happy without him, settled down with a nice man who wasn't married. There is a nagging thought that tugs at the back of her mind that reminds her this would be an inevitability. They had been drawn to each other and they always will be. She has never believed in soul mates but believes this is the closest thing.

There is a sudden knock at the door and Butch enters before she can say anything. He looks surprised to see her awake and runs a hand through his messy black hair, reminiscent of the way Buttercup does when she is anxious. He starts to approach her bed but thinks better of it and settles himself into the chair by the window.

"How you feelin'?" he asks after an awkward pause.

She looks at him and bites her lip. "A lot better. I guess the stress finally caught up to me," she manages to say weakly. She watches him purse his lips and nod, but he doesn't say anything. They sit in more edgy silence for a few minutes, both sullen and silently thinking.

Blossom remembers the conversation at her house, how close Butch had been to revealing their lie. She doesn't know how he would have found out but knows there was nothing else she could have said. She looks back at him and feels uneasy at the focused gaze and pursed lips that meet her.

"Butch, listen," she begins hoarsely, "there's really nothing going on—"

He cuts her off. "I _know_, Blossom," he says in a tired sounding voice, like he no longer wants anything to do with her secrets.

"But there's nothing to know," she protests, hating that she's confined in this bed like a prisoner with nowhere to escape. She can feel herself fading under the realization that there is nothing she can say to convince him of anything else.

Butch looks at her, irritated, and rises from his seat. He walks towards her and leans over her, placing his hands on the bed sheet. He leans in close, so close she can feel his breath tickling her nose, nicotine-scented. The scent, as disgusting as it is, reminds her of how he used to love her and in a way it soothes her.

"About your _baby,_" he hisses and pulls away again.

Her heart drops to the floor and shatters, and she gasps out amid the collapse. It feels like a figment from her nightmares, her secrets spilling out from a waterfall of lies and everyone she's hurt begin to leave her, taking her deceptions with her. Her skin feels tight around her bones and her heart, what remains of it, hammers in her ears. If this is a nightmare, she wants to wake up.

"Butch, you don't—" she tries but he's having none of it.

"I—what? I don't _understand_?" he asks incredulously, pacing the room. "No, Blossom, I don't understand. I don't understand how you can be pregnant with your sister's husband's baby." His voice carries a snarl and she hates it.

"That's not how it is!" she cries out. Butch stops and looks at her, utter confusion gracing his rough features.

"Then tell me how it is, Blossom!" he replies loudly and she glances at the door to make sure he hasn't caught anyone's attention. "Tell me how much Brick loves you and he'll leave Buttercup the second he finds out you're pregnant! Tell me just how much he'll love your baby like he's supposed to love you!"

"Brick does love me!" Blossom yells, unable to control the rising tone of her voice. "And I know he'll leave her because we _belong together!_" She feels tears prickling at the back of her eyes as the words she so desperately hopes, aches, to be true escape from her mouth.

Butch scoffs at her like she is a naïve child. "You belong together, huh?" he snarls roughly. "You belong together so much that he decided to marry your sister instead of you. He decided to hurt you just so that he could fuck you because you were the one prize he could never win." There is a bitter edge to his tone.

"But he doesn't get it," Butch says, more to himself. "He just doesn't get how much he hurts people. He pretends to love Buttercup and hurts her while he does it and fucks you on the side, convincing you that he _loves _you." He scoffs again. "He only does it because he's pissed that I got something first."

Blossom is speechless. She stares at Butch as he continues to pace back and forth across the room, speaking mistruths about her and his brother, slipping out that he viewed her as nothing more than a conquest.

"This isn't anything about you," she says coldly and he glances up in surprise at the change in her tone. "You didn't _get _me, Butch. I was young and stupid and I fell in love with an asshole who I thought loved me back. But you didn't. And you'll never understand how I feel about Brick now. Because you, Butch Ronalds, are absolutely _pathetic._"

He is shocked; she can see it in his face. A sudden rush of pride fills her knowing that she has rendered Butch silent for once. He shakes his head at her and makes his way towards the door. Before he opens it, however, he turns back to her.

"You can't hide this forever, Blossom," he says quietly. "I won't keep your lies secret anymore."

Before she can say anything he opens the door. A smirk suddenly appears on his face.

"Looks like you have a visitor," he says and opens the door to reveal Brick. Butch slips past his brother and leaves a wide-eyed Brick standing there in silence and a speechless Blossom wanting nothing more than to disappear forever.

_What can we do now…_

* * *

"_No, Blossom, I don't understand. I don't understand how you can be pregnant with your sister's husband's baby."_

The words sicken him and pluck at his gag reflex until he can feel bile rise up in his throat. He forces it down and resists the urge to slam his head against the door. He listens to the rest of the conversation in nauseated silence, fists clenching and heart breaking respectively at his brother's and Blossom's words. Butch has merely wanted to show Brick up this whole time…Blossom desperately wants him to love her…

He loves her, he knows he does. There is not an ounce of him that can't love her. He loves every part of her, every strand of red hair and every perfection and flaw he can find. She has created in him what he has longed for; a balance between romance and strength, not fully changing him, but changing him enough to allow himself to love again. The weakness he feels sometimes will never possibly change how he feels about her. He refuses to let it.

But…his _baby. _Brick has always tried his best to prevent Buttercup from getting pregnant. It's not that he bears ill will towards them; rather that he can't imagine a life with Buttercup tied down by children. He had made a mistake in marrying her and having children would render him into a state of misery and regret for the rest of his life. He could never leave his children and he could never leave Buttercup to mother them alone.

The revelation that Blossom is pregnant cripples him inwardly. He wants nothing more than to collapse on the ground and bury his face into his hands. How could he have let this happen? A pregnancy will unravel everything he's tried so meticulously to build. He can't march into Blossom's hospital room and demand that she abort that baby just to satisfy his present and his future. She would leave him then and he would have nothing.

He should have left Buttercup while he had the chance. No, he should never have seduced Blossom the night of his own wedding…God, what is _wrong_ with him? In one year he has managed to single-handedly destroy every relationship in his life that is important to him. The second word gets out about his affair, he will have devastated everything that has ever mattered to him. And he can't imagine what he will have left.

The only light that remains is Blossom's decision; if she will even choose to have the baby. But even then he knows she will expect him to leave his wife and be with her if not just for the baby's sake. Blossom is progressive, but she has expectations. She expects him to live up to his word of loving her and to finally prove it to her; especially in her current state of constant, (now seemingly _not _unjustified) paranoia.

The door opens suddenly and Butch stands there, a smirk slowly etching into his lips as their eyes meet.

"Looks like you have a visitor," Butch says to Blossom and slips past him. Brick is too frozen to stop him, though he wants nothing more than to grab his brother and slam him into the wall. Instead he slowly enters Blossom's room, one steady step at a time.

She is lying in bed looking utterly drained. Dark crescents encase her teary eyes and the corners of her pale, cracked lips are turned downwards, quivering at the very sight of him. He doesn't approach but merely stands at the door and watches her, unsure of what to say.

"Brick…" She trails off and watches him, slow tears beginning to leak from her eyes.

"Why…" Brick tries to croak out. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question comes out more accusatorially than he intends and he observes her wince with a wince of his own.

"I'm so sorry," Blossom whispers out, tears now falling freely down her pallid cheeks. "I've been under so much pressure lately, I only just found out yesterday, I…" She seems to run out of things to say or has otherwise succumbed desperately to the tears. She presses her fingers to her lips and her shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs.

Brick wants to comfort her. He wants nothing more than to cradle her in his arms and tell her that everything will be okay, that he will love her and their baby and take care of them because that's what he wants. But his body remains stationary and he is frozen in time, watching the supposed love of his life cry away her desperation as silently as she can.

"Blossom, I…I can't deal with this right now." And, like the spineless bastard he knows he's always been, Brick turns on his heel and bolts from the room, cowardly escaping his fate.

The air is cooler out in the hall and easier to breathe. He hates himself for abandoning her and considers going back. But his pounding heart insists otherwise and he chases after Butch, who he can tell has been slowly sauntering down the hall like he has accomplished something great. The swagger infuriates Brick and when he catches up with his brother he slams him against the wall.

"What the fuck—" Butch sputters out as Brick grips him by the front of his shirt and presses him into the wall.

"You've hated me, Butch, for as long as I can remember," Brick hisses, curling his fist deeper into Butch's shirt. "But you don't ever fuck around with Blossom or Buttercup because you're a jealous little _fuck_head." Anger encompasses him completely and his eyes begin to blur red as he feels two hands press against his shoulders and push him away.

"Don't be pissed at me that your perfect little world is crumbling away before your eyes," Butch snarls as he frees himself from his brother's tight grip. He shoves Brick away. "It's about time someone smacked you back into reality." Butch shoves him again. "Face it, _brother,_ your time has come. You'll finally learn you can't get everything you fucking want."

Brick snaps and throws his fist at Butch's face, delivering a solid punch to his right cheek. He can feel the flesh of his knuckles collide with the solid bones of Butch's face but does not wince at the pain. Butch stumbles backwards, hand pressed to his cheek. He looks up, eyes ablaze, and throws himself at Brick.

Brick falls to the ground with Butch on top of him. "You can't fuck around with my life because you're jealous of me!" he yells, attempting to shield himself from his brother's attack. "Mind your own fucking business!" He rolls Butch over so that he is on top and begins to deliver his own flurry of punches, never having been this consumed by anger.

Butch lets out a roar and knees Brick in the stomach. "You made it my business!" he shouts, lifting Brick to his feet and pushing him as hard as he can against the wall. Brick feels his head bang heavily against the concrete but ignores the throbbing pain. He launches himself back to Butch and finds his hands gripping Butch's shirt again.

"Nothing I do is ever going to be your _fucking business_, Butch! You have no right to dictate what I do with my life!" The roar that escapes his throat is inhuman and he finds himself being pulled back by four arms, two wrapped around his stomach and the other two around his shoulders. The red clears his gaze and he sees a security guard restraining Butch, who is flailing beneath the bulky grip.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?"

Brick stops struggling and looks up to see a horrified look on Buttercup's face. Guilt takes over and he glances over his shoulder to see that Boomer and a nurse are holding him back from attacking Butch. Noticing his composure, they release him, though he can sense their reluctance, and he tries to go to Buttercup. She backs away from him.

"Don't. Come. Near. Me, Brick Ronalds!" she screams at him. "Don't come _anywhere _near me!" She turns and runs down the hall, away from them, away from him.

He can't bring himself to follow.

_There's nothing left now…_

* * *

_Christmas dinner was at the Professor's house that year. I was going with incredible reluctance, having no desire to speak to my so-called father for as long as I could, but wanting to please my sisters who had all but begged me to come and spend Christmas with them. There was no hope in deterring them from visiting him…_he _had no problems with Blossom and Buttercup._

_Boomer tried to persuade me. He would have succeeded had Blossom not been thrown into a rage and threatened to tell Dr. Ronalds. The doctor had a no tolerance policy when it came to holiday dinners. If one of her sons did not show up she would have marched to their homes and dragged them there by their ears. I almost wished the Professor had the same desire to see us._

_It was our third semester at college and the threat of my future was looming. Law school was a desire of my father's and my own wishes did not factor into the equation. He had never had much tolerance for me. I was the nuisance, the particularly average daughter with no special talents or skills. He loved Blossom the most. Blossom was smart and beautiful and just Perfect Blossom. But then, everyone loved Blossom the most._

_I was never jealous of Blossom because I loved her too much. But sometimes, when she became a little too overbearing, I found myself wishing that she would screw up, just once. Maybe then everyone could see that Perfect Blossom wasn't so perfect after all. And when she broke Buttercup's heart by stealing Butch away from her, I found myself relieved. Certainly I was heartbroken for Buttercup, but I found out something very important that day: Blossom was human and it made it much more manageable to be around her from that day on._

_I got along with both my sisters better than most siblings do. We were nearly inseparable as children, discovering our own interests as teens but still close, and only until our late teens did we really begin to fluctuate as a group. The boys did not begin to matter that much until I found out that Buttercup was horribly in love with Butch. It was unexpected of her but incredibly endearing and I supported her endlessly. It was wonderful to see Buttercup so ingenuously fresh and, well, normal._

_But the mess that followed was devastating to every relationship we had formulated amongst ourselves. I hated it. I prided myself in being cheerful and positive and that was who I was (still am, I'd like to think). But I was struggling. Buttercup and Blossom hated each other, Blossom was in an unhealthy relationship with Butch who I was sure was using her, Brick was devastated and had grown cold, and Boomer…my Boomer did not remain oblivious and it slowly drove an invisible wedge between us, one that I did not notice until years later._

_He dropped out of state after two years and found a job in Massachusetts so that he could be near me. I protested his decision, hating that he would move so far to be with me after becoming a college drop-out. I stopped when he found a steady loading job and a tiny loft apartment for us and was just the most wonderful boyfriend. The prospect of graduating from Harvard didn't seem so daunting anymore as long as I had Boomer._

_That winter he drove us through two states to Townsville where I had a feeling we would all reconnect once more when our post-secondary lives were complete. Townsville was that kind of place; even if you hated it you would always come back to it. It was home._

_It was one of the first winters in a long time that snow blanketed the ground. It was a light layer of powder that flurried through the air as we walked through it but it was beautiful. As we drove down the street, I could feel my stomach clench at the prospect of seeing my family again. The last time I had seen them was the summer, when Boomer and I had flown out to California to surprise his brothers and celebrate their birthday._

_Boomer knocked on the door and within an instance it had opened and I was engulfed into Blossom's perfumed grasp. She had changed in the months since I'd seen her; her beautiful red hair had been cut into a shoulder-length bob and she had been dressed so classically in a pencil skirt and blouse. She was graceful. She was beautiful. She was my Blossom._

"_Bubbles, I missed you so much," she exclaimed after releasing me from her grip. "It's _so _lonely without you." Then, leaning in so that only I could hear, she whispered, "I wish I had gone to Harvard with you."_

_It was that realization that surprised me and made me suspicious. We had all known that the only reason Blossom had gone to California with the rest of the group was to be with Butch; and that inane decision had been the subject of judgement for years. This was her first acknowledgement of her mistake and frankly, it made me sad. Blossom was too smart not to do well in life but I knew she would regret abandoning her choice of Ivy Leagues for a boy._

_I saw Buttercup next and the vision of her absolutely floored me. Gone was my rebellious, laid-back sister; she was replaced by a high-class, sexier version of graceful Blossom. Her hair, always cut shoulder-length, skimmed her chest and she was dressed in a high-waisted skirt that was paired with a lace top and higher heels than Blossom. She was calm, confident, and collected. She was nothing like I remembered._

"_Bubbles." I glanced up and saw the Professor striding towards me. A chill trickled loosely up my spine, pricking at my skin in warning. His hair was greying and he had lost his perpetual lab coat for tailored pants and a dress shirt. He did not look particularly happy to see me and it made me angry._

"_Hello, Professor," I said stiffly. He did not look surprised to see my address of Professor; I had long since abandoned calling him 'dad'._

"_Glad you could make it," he said after a long pause. He reached his arm out as if to wrap it around me but thought better of it and gestured towards the stairs. "Get settled in. You'll be sharing a room with Buttercup." _

_As an afterthought, he added, coldly I thought, "hello, Boomer." Boomer replied with a polite greeting followed by 'sir' and followed me up the stairs to get settled in._

_The next night was Christmas dinner. I had helped Dr. Ronalds in the kitchen all day, preparing vegan alternatives to the turkey and dairy. She asked me questions about school and my relationship and if I had enough money for food at school but did not probe me about the Professor. She was a kind woman and it wasn't on occasion that I wished it had been her who had adopted me instead of the Professor._

_I had expected the dinner to be awkward. I was not disappointed._

"_Bubbles, how is Harvard?" the Professor asked me after spooning a large heaping of mashed potatoes onto his plate. I chewed on one of my organic potatoes slowly and deliberately, wasting time before I had to answer. He looked at me expectantly._

"_It's okay, Professor," I said stiffly. "I'm not sure I want to be a lawyer though…"_

_The Professor smiled at me sympathetically. I hated that smile and his insistent desire to treat me like an inane child. "But you're doing wonderfully, my dear. I'm sure your sisters wish they had the same prowess as you. Well, perhaps not Blossom…" He looked indicatively at Buttercup, who swallowed a giant chunk of turkey and ignored him._

_I cleared my throat. "I've been thinking about dropping out of law school." The words had taken a lot of time to verbalize. I had thought about them for months, unable to express them to anybody but my reflection in the mirror. They hung in the air solidly, taunting everyone to digest their meaning. The Professor glanced at me, so expressionless that I was sure he had even heard what I'd said._

"_Don't be ridiculous, dear," he finally replied, cutting into a slice of turkey. Dr. Ronalds looked at him, shocked. "Law school will be good for you. Maybe you'll finally get over that…hippie phase you're going through." He gestured to my waist-length hair and loose paisley-print dress and matching headscarf with his fork._

_I slammed my fork and knife down onto my plate and tossed my napkin onto the table. Without a word I stood from my seat and bolted upstairs. I hated him, I hated everything he had turned into and was trying to turn me into. It was childish of me to run up the stairs, into my old bedroom and collapse onto my bed to sob but there was nothing more I desired._

_Boomer and I left the next day without a word to the Professor (Boomer was not on great speaking terms with the Professor, who refused to let it go that Boomer had dropped out of college) and barely a goodbye to our siblings. I regretted it, but needed to get out of that house as soon as possible._

_I did not know when I would speak to him again. I was not sure if I ever wanted to._

* * *

Bubbles follows Buttercup out into the frosty winter night, visions of Brick and Butch's fight echoing through her head. It chills her bones seeing the hatred spewed between them. And yet she welcomes the distraction from her own troubles and Blossom's.

"Buttercup," she calls out, chasing after her sister. She has never seen such desolation on her usually emotionlessly composed sister. Buttercup is aloof and she is strong. But the world is collapsing and reality is burning and Bubbles knows that none of them are the same or will ever be what they once were.

"Buttercup," she breathes out as she finally catches up. Buttercup stops but does not turn around, instead collapsing onto the icy ground. Her shoulders shake in silent sobs and without a word, Bubbles kneels down and wraps her arms around her, the only comfort she can offer now.

They sit on the ground for what seems like hours. Buttercup cries softly into Bubbles' arms, the only noises she makes little gasps and hiccups from her tears. Occasionally Bubbles wipes the tears from her sister's cheeks, simultaneously rubbing her shoulders with her other hand to keep her warm from the biting air. She will protect her sister from completely losing control.

Finally, Buttercup's sobs die down but keeps her face pressed into the warm wool of Bubbles' sweater. She feels small in Bubbles' arms, delicate almost; a laughable word that one would never use to describe Buttercup Utonium. Neither speaks, taking solace in the comfort of being in each other's arms.

"Everything I know…" Buttercup speaks, but her voice is so quiet, so whispery that Bubbles can barely hear. "Everything I know is crumbling. I can't help but think that everything that's happened tonight has to do with me. And I know that's selfish, but…I'm selfish. And it tortures people."

Bubbles rubs her sister's back, knowing that words are not what Buttercup wants or needs. She has been the protector lately, the lone sage of wisdom and guidance that had once been Blossom. She cannot pinpoint when things had changed but knows this is how things must remain, even though she can tell that her position is slipping and soon even she will have nothing left to which to cling.

She has mended the hole in her heart with messy stitches made from wire she uses to keep her mind in one piece. She can't predict when it will snap but knows the strain is beginning to be too much to bear. She is overloaded with secrets, a burden on her shoulder she doesn't want to carry. Blossom and Brick's affair, her sisters' collapses, Boomer's violence, Boomer's anger…the fury she had heard from the basement that night, how difficult it'd been to force her way downstairs and wake him.

"Do you want to stay over tonight, Buttercup?" Bubbles asks. "We can come visit Blossom in the morning."

Buttercup nods and she allows Bubbles to lift her up and take her cell phone to call a cab. When the cab arrives she sits in the backseat in silence and Bubbles sits up front making small talk with the cab driver.

At her house, Buttercup entwines her fingers with Bubbles' and offers her a soft smile, uncharacteristic of her, as they make their way up the small stone path and into the house. Bubbles helps settle Buttercup into her bed, draping her comforter over her soon-slumbering sister and wiping up the last of her dried tears.

Downstairs, Bubbles makes herself a pot of tea and settles in one of the chairs in the kitchen table. The chamomile soothes her and warms her from the leftover cold that has tensed her skin. She wants to sleep, wants so badly to sleep, but knows that after all the revelations tonight, there is one thing she must finally do.

Picking up the phone, she dials the number to Dr. Ronalds. She sips her cup of tea as the phone rings four times. After the fifth she considers hanging up and trying again in the morning when she hears a click and a fatigued "hello?"

Gasping, Bubbles quickly sets down her cup and grasps for something to say. "Um, hello? Dr. Ronalds?" she manages finally.

A slight pause. Then— _"Bubbles? Is that you? It's three in the morning._" To prove her point, Dr. Ronalds lets out a deep yawn and Bubbles hears scratching on the other end of the call.

"I know, I'm sorry," Bubbles says, truly apologetic. "I just wanted to speak to the Professor and it really couldn't wait until morning."

The silence that follows is lengthy and deafening. She can hear the doctor breathing but no words follow her heavy, weary breath.

_"Bubbles…_" Her tone is anxious, sadness intertwined between each syllable. "_How could no one have told you? I've been in Europe for the last month. John passed away…_"

The stitches unravel and her heart separates into two and everything falls and burns and crashes and Bubbles knows nothing but the sound of the phone clattering against the ground.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Polska – I did it. I'm so excited I literally starting screaming things in Polish, which I pretty much only do when I'm really excited. I finished this in one day so I'm pretty enthusiastic about getting the next chapter up more easily. Anyways, I enjoyed this chapter up until the flashback scene. It was fine, but I feel like it could have been better. This is a big turning point in the story because now everything is starting to crash and burn, just as Bubbles felt. Don't feel too sorry for her though. She's not as innocent as she may seem ;). Well, review please! I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH THIS STORY. I am determined to get the next chapter up within the next month and you CAN take stock on that! LOVE U XOXO**

**PS: I took some artistic license with the fact that Bubbles is in law school in only her third year of university lol. Oh well!**

* * *

_**NEXT CHAPTER  
**_CONSEQUENCE


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